


to refuse the givens

by snark



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, from both POVs, largely book-compliant, rebellious teenage phase, star-crossed lovers, teenagers actually being teenagers at Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-05-02 06:23:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snark/pseuds/snark
Summary: Daphne Greengrass makes a tidy sum selling contraband at Hogwarts, and a nihilistic Harry Potter wants to buy cigarettes.





	1. One

_ I refuse these givens     the splitting    _

_ between love and action      I am choosing _

_ not to suffer uselessly       and not to use her _

_I choose to love this time     for once_

_ with all my intelligence. _

 

_‘Splittings’, Adrienne Rich_

  
  


Harry sat on the edge of the stairs and rubbed his hands together nervously. He looked around, but there was no one in sight. This staircase was rarely used, leading only to the back of the greenhouses. He checked his watch - she would appear soon, he had been assured. He sighed and looked back down at his feet.

_ This is a new level of sad. _

He had expected to hear her approach, but she was whisper quiet. Only a small cough caused him to turn - and she stood there in the backlight. One of her feet was raised, and with all the grace of a ballet dancer she took a few steps down towards him. She bent her head as she peered at him, dark hair catching the light.

‘Well,’ she mused coolly, ‘this is a surprise.’

Harry stood up. ‘Hello, Greengrass,’ he greeted.

‘The great Harry Potter,’ she said with infinite amusement, ‘what are you doing here?’

He took a short breath before beginning. ‘Is this not the Greengate? Pathway to greenhouses and contraband alike?’

She descended the last of the stairs finally. As the backlight faded and she fell under the flicker of the flame he had conjured, she softened. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips curled in an amused smile, her eyelids shimmering with a caramel brown to match her chocolate hair, and when she finally looked directly at him - her eyes were just as green as his own. 

‘And what can the Greengate provide today?’ she asked.

Her presence pressed against him and Harry resisted the urge to step back. He swallowed his nerves. She gave off waves of self confidence - it disturbed something in him.

‘Cigarettes,’ he said.

Her eyebrows raised. Her eyes flickered over him from head to toe quickly. A long moment passed and her brows dropped once more.

‘Okay.’

‘Okay?’ he repeated in slight shock.

She smiled a little. ‘Okay. Five galleons.’

Harry pulled the coins from his pocket and gave them to her. Her nails were short and sharp. She slipped the money into her own pocket and turned to head back up the stairs.

‘Uh…’ Harry trailed off.

‘I don’t carry them with me, Potter,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Come back tomorrow night.’

‘Oh...okay.’

She paused at the top of the steps, her head again cocked as she contemplated him. Harry shifted uncomfortably on his feet. 

‘Can I ask why?’ she said after a long moment.

‘I don’t see why that’s your business,’ he said in a rush. The words had flown around his mind all day in preparation.

‘True,’ she admitted, ‘but I am curious. You don’t seem the type.’

Harry shrugged. ‘I’m not, I guess. I just...Voldemort’s back and I might die any day so fuck it.’

It felt good to release that truth into the world. Her head straightened on her shoulders, her mouth wiping away its wry little smile. 

‘Do you really think so?’ she asked gently.

Harry barked out a short laugh. ‘I saw it with my own eyes. He’s alive.’

It seemed Daphne Greengrass was a fan of long, contemplative pauses. After another, she descended the stairs again. Her hand slipped into the inner pocket of her robes and Harry clutched his wand. What she pulled out, however, was a pack of cigarettes.

‘These are mine,’ she explained. ‘Do you want one?’

He shrugged.

Daphne reached around him and pushed the iron gate open. The two wandered out onto the grassy area behind the green houses, illuminated in silver moonlight. Harry felt the thrill of newness shoot through him, and a hint of danger. Greengrass was a Slytherin, her parents likely Death Eaters, and he was making himself vulnerable by being around her. Plus, information like Harry Potter taking up smoking was probably valuable in the gossip factory. Hermione would murder him if she ever found out. His heart constricted with fear...and he smiled to know he was alive.

She led him to a secluded alcove set into the stone wall of Hogwarts. She sat down on the ageing wooden bench there and slipped a cigarette between her lips. Harry sat next to her, observing how she lit it with the tip of her wand. He took the cigarette offered to him and attempted to copy her.

He coughed violently as soon as the smoke hit his lungs.

Greengrass let out a peal of laughter. ‘Potter, you are something else! Here - deep breath in...hold it a moment,  _ resist the urge to cough _ ...and slow breath out. There you go.’

The smoke curled from his mouth. His lungs still constricted with the urge to cough until blood came up, but he ignored it. On this third experimental drag the pain lessened, and an edge of a buzz entered the back of his mind. 

‘You want those galleons back now?’ she teased.

‘No.’ He smiled a little, taking another drag carefully. ‘This is exactly what I wanted.’

‘What’s that?’

He looked out ahead of them - to the Forbidden Forest and the lake. The moon played off the latter wildly and he felt blessedly small. Small and nihilistic.

‘To be in control of who hurts me,’ he mused.

Greengrass hummed to herself. ‘You’re a lot more introspective than people give you credit for.’

Harry laughed shortly. ‘I dare not think what people do give me credit for.’

‘Oh, the usual,’ she replied. ‘Saving the world, being a liar, saving the world over again.’

‘Y’know those aren’t things I intentionally did.’

She raised an eyebrow at him. ‘So you didn’t conquer Voldemort in first year after battling a Cerberus?’ 

‘Well...yes, but it’s not like I had a choice. Anyone would have. I just happened to be there.’

‘I don’t believe that for a second and neither should you.’

She spoke so matter-of-factly. Her elegant fingers brought the cigarette to her lips again. She looked out as he did at the forest and the lake. He had no response to that.

‘Who’s hurting you?’ she said suddenly.

‘At the moment? Umbridge.’

‘What’s she doing, boring you to death?’ Her voice was acerbic.

Harry shook his head. He turned his left hand to the moonlight and curled it into a fist. The letters were crusted with blood from the previous night.  _ I must not tell lies _ .

‘She has me writing lines with a blood quill for detention,’ he explained. 

Not a hint of emotion passed over Daphne’s face. She looked at his hand for a long moment and then looked away. 

‘Bitch,’ she announced.

He smiled a little. ‘Yeah. Hermione is dying to report her to Dumbledore.’

‘Don’t do that,’ Daphne replied. ‘She’ll just burn the thing and all the evidence will be gone.’

‘Then what do you suggest I do?’

She shrugged. ‘Blood magic is strong and often dangerous. You’re already practicing the sacrificial part - make it work for you.’

‘You suggest I try my hand at blood magic?’ he asked incredulously. ‘That’s a dark art.’

‘So are blood quills. It’s about time you started fighting fire with fire, Potter. You’re far too clever to be this good.’

‘You think good people can’t be clever?’

‘I think clever people understand that good and bad aren’t as simple as that.’

It was similar to what Sirius had once said to him. He sighed, because he agreed. But blood magic? If that went wrong he could end up killing himself.

And his heart leapt at the thought. Danger was more far more addictive than cigarettes.

When he looked at Daphne she was smiling a little. ‘I also sell passes to the restricted section...Should you need one.’

‘Are they legit?’

‘Everything I sell is legit.’

‘Alright, Greengrass. How much?’

‘Twenty galleons.’

‘ _ Twenty? _ ’

‘You want to explain to McGonagall why you need into the restricted section?’

‘Fine.’ He dug into his money pouch again. ‘Here.’

‘Thanks. I’ll bring it tomorrow with the cigs.’

‘Why do you do this?’ Harry wondered. ‘This little...venture? Your family is rich already.’

‘And you stay rich by making money.’

She stubbed out her cigarette on the castle wall and vanished the butt. Harry did the same. As they stood to leave, he turned to her.

‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ he asked sincerely.

‘I’m not going to tell anyone,’ she said as though it was obvious. ‘I open my mouth and I lose a customer. It’s not good for business.’

They began walking back to the gate. 

‘You must know a lot of secrets,’ he said.

‘I don’t know a thing.’

She ascended the stairs before him, turned left towards the dungeons and was gone without saying goodbye. Harry let out a long breath. Daphne Greengrass was a bit of an enigma.

 

The next night Harry found his cigarettes and library pass tucked into an alcove in the wall by the gate. He felt the charm protecting them melt away as his hand passed through it. As he picked them up, a little note fluttered out. 

 

_ ‘The Blood of the Covenant’ comes recommended. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem 'Splittings' is by the endlessly talented Adrienne Rich and can be found here: https://nataliejabbar.wordpress.com/tag/splittings-by-adrienne-rich/


	2. Two

A week later, Harry went back for more cigarettes. The little things were addictive. He was beginning to suspect Hermione was on to him, but for the moment she held her peace. He had been looking up cleaning charms to get the smell out of his clothes but had not found anything useful so far. He had resolved to ask Daphne if she had any tips.

Thinking about Daphne confused him. She was pretty and mysterious - it was attractive to him. But she was a Slytherin, sold contraband for no reason apart from greed, and most likely fraternised with future death eaters if she wasn’t one herself. He could not trust her beyond her supply of cigarettes.

‘Potter,’ she greeted from the top of the stairs. ‘I wondered when I would be seeing you again.’

‘Hello, Greengrass.’

‘Same again?’

‘Please.’

This time she produced an unopened pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her robes. He handed over the coins. 

‘You need another pass?’

‘No, I think I got what I needed. Thank you.’

She looked him dead in the eye as she slipped a cigarette between her lips. Harry felt like she was looking into his soul. Her green gaze was steady. After a minute, she lit the thing with a wave of her wand and turned to open the gate.

‘You coming?’

He followed her outside numbly.

They sat on the same bench again. It was colder that night and Harry cast a warming charm over it. She pressed her back against the warmed wood in what he felt was an appreciative way. He lit a cigarette.

‘Was the book useful?’ she asked.

‘Yes. That author has a lot of stuff on blood magic, actually. Thanks for recommending it.’

‘What ritual are you performing then?’

He frowned. ‘I’m not telling you.’

She laughed. ‘You’re finally learning to not spill all your secrets to the first person who listens. Congrats, Potter.’

He rolled his eyes. 

‘These are muggle cigarettes. Where do you get them?’ The question had occurred to him the previous night and kept him up for considerable time.

‘I’m not telling you,’ she repeated him.

‘No, but...I mean you must have had to go into the muggle world for them. And I thought purebloods didn’t do that.’

‘Have you ever considered that’s exactly what we want you to think?’

His eyebrows raised. ‘So you do go into the muggle world?’

‘Of course I do. I don’t live under a rock.’

‘But don’t you…’ he stopped because he didn’t know how to phrase it delicately. He didn’t want to start a fight.

‘Hate muggles?’ she asked bluntly. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Oh…I’m sorry.’

She shrugged. ‘It must be hard to understand the intricacies of the pureblood community from the outside. Greengrasses are not known for taking sides, or picking fights. We keep to ourselves.’

‘And they let you get away with that?’

‘The Dark Lord can hound us all he likes. I’m not sure why he doesn’t get the message - it’s a well known precedent. My great grandfather used to walk to Gringotts during the Goblin War just to stretch his legs.’

‘It’s not surprising Voldemort doesn’t know that. He’s from the outside too.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s a halfblood,’ Harry explained. ‘His father was a muggle.’

Daphne blinked at him. ‘You’re telling me that the man waging a war over blood purity is a halfblood?’

‘Ironic, isn’t it?’

‘That is...kind of hilarious.’ 

She smiled and laughed to herself. The elegant way she put her cigarette to her lips was ever more attractive to him now than ever. The fact she was not a bigot had warmed Harry considerably to her. Of course, she could be lying but what would be the point in that?

‘Well whatever you’re doing about Umbridge do it quickly. She’s doing my head in.’

‘Oh, I’m not doing anything about her,’ he admitted. ‘I’m doing something for myself.’

‘You are full of surprises, Potter.’

‘Harry,’ he corrected.

‘Harry.’ She appeared to try the name in her mouth. ‘I never thought it suited you.’

He frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Far too pedestrian for the boy who lived.’

He laughed. ‘What name would you suggest for me then?’

She smiled at him teasingly. ‘Godric.’

His laughter increased. ‘Godric Potter. That’s just asking for it. Voldemort definitely would have tried to kill me with a name like that.’

She laughed with him. ‘I suppose. Does that mean I’ll turn into a tree one day?’

‘What?’

‘Daphne. She was a sea nymph in Greek mythology,’ she explained. ‘Apollo fell in love with her, but she didn’t want him. He chased her to the river where she asked her father, the river god, to turn her into a tree to escape. He turned her into a laurel, and Apollo wore laurel leaves the rest of his life.’

‘Romantic. It doesn’t suit you either.’

She smirked. ‘I can be romantic.’

‘Really? I find that hard to believe.’

She took a deep drag on her cigarette, opened her mouth and spoke:

 

‘ _ A glimpse through an interstice caught, _

_ Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremark’d seated in a corner, _

_ Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand, _

_ A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest, _

_ There were two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word. _ ’

 

Harry stared at her, floored. She had just recited poetry, and her whole being had softened with it. She had opened like a flower to the sun in those few moments. Even now she gazed lovingly into the darkness. Daphne Greengrass loved poetry, and it made something in his chest crack open.

‘Who wrote that?’

‘Walt Whitman,’ she said. ‘It’s called _A Glimpse_.’

‘It’s really nice.’

‘Nice?’

‘I don’t...I don’t know anything about poetry. It was beautiful, I guess.’

She smiled at him. ‘That’s better.’

He stubbed out his cigarette and admitted to himself with some unhappiness that he was absolutely fascinated by Daphne Greengrass.

‘Do you have any tips to get rid of the smell?’ he asked numbly.

‘Sadly not,’ she admitted. ‘Why?’

‘Hermione’s suspicious.’

‘Why don’t you tell her the truth?’

‘Well,’ he scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration, ‘her parents are dentists, for one, she’d kill me if she knew. And I rather like having a secret for once. I’m tired of everyone knowing everything about me.’

‘I understand that.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Same again next week?’

‘Please.’

 

‘I knew it!’ 

Harry jumped at the sound of Hermione’s shriek. He turned to see her standing in the doorway of the owlery, glaring at him. Thoroughly caught, Harry turned back to look out the window and take another drag.

‘Harry James Potter, put that out right now! Are you out of your mind?’

She strode to his side, hands on her hips. Harry resisted the urge to glare back at her. Could he not have one thing that was purely his own?

‘Harry!’ 

‘Hermione, calm down,’ he muttered. 

‘Those things will kill you,’ she hissed.

He let out a bark of laughter. ‘They’ll only kill me if Voldemort doesn’t.’

She softened in a second. ‘Oh, Harry...You can’t think like that.’

‘How can I not think like that?’

‘You will not die because of him,’ she said firmly. ‘Nor will you die of cancer. Put it out.’

He considered starting a fight - he had a right to do with his own body what he wanted. If he wanted to poison himself it was none of her business. The words were set to leap from his tongue when he suddenly thought...what would Daphne do?

‘Okay,’ he replied simply. 

Harry stubbed out the cigarette and vanished the butt. Hermione was appeased, and looped her arm through his as they left the owlery. He had no intention of quitting - only of finding a way to hide it. He looked for guilt inside him but couldn’t find it. He had earned his privacy, even from his closest friends. He smiled to himself a little.

‘Where did you even get those stupid things?’ Hermione asked.

‘Dudley,’ he lied. 

She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course.’

Perhaps he really should have been a Slytherin.


	3. Three

‘Hello, Godric.’

Harry laughed at the name. ‘Evening, Daphne.’

She laughed a little as she descended the stairs. ‘How do you manage to get here? I would have thought Granger was hounding you by now.’

‘I have my ways,’ he replied - a certain map and cloak she would know nothing about.

Daphne rolled her eyes. ‘Mysterious doesn’t suit you.’

She handed over the cigarettes and he handed over the money. As was their routine, they stepped outside and walked to what Harry was beginning to consider their bench. 

‘How’s the Umbridge plan going?’ she asked in a friendly tone.

‘Y’know,’ Harry mused, ‘blood magic isn’t as hard as I thought it would be.’

‘Well, the hardest part about it is the bloodletting.’

‘True. It’s going fine, thanks.’

‘Feel like telling me what you’re doing yet?’

‘No, but I have something else to show you.’

Harry reached into his cloak and pulled out a perfume bottle. Daphne eyed it with her usual blank look - as if he could have produced nothing more dull. 

‘Hold out your fingers,’ he said.

She offered him her left hand. He shook his head. Carefully, she transferred her cigarette from her right to her left and stretched out the empty hand towards him. Harry gently took her palm in his, turning her hand over so her index and middle fingers were closest to him. He spritzed them lightly with the contents of the bottle. Daphne drew back her hand with caution.

‘Smell,’ he urged.

She brought her fingers to her nose and took a small whiff. 

‘I don’t smell anything.’

‘Exactly.’

Realisation dawned on her face. ‘You found a way around the smell. Oh well done, Godric.’

Harry smiled, more than proud of himself. He shook the bottle at her.

‘A cleansing potion normally used in washing clothes. Takes away any odour whatsoever.’

She smiled back at him. ‘What’s the name of it?’

‘Cathy’s Cleansing Concoction,’ he said with an amused smile. ‘I found it in one of those old household management books no one’s read since the fifties.’

She laughed. ‘And there I was thinking you were good for nothing but Dark Lord hunting.’

Harry paused to taste the words on his lips before deciding they were safe. ‘Why do you call him that?’

‘Who?’

‘Voldemort. Why do you call him the Dark Lord?’

That gave her pause. Harry was learning to read her micro-expressions - the blanker her face, the more she felt. At least that was his theory. Daphne looked across the darkness for a long, silent moment.

‘I just...always have. It’s the vernacular I grew up with. The same way Americans say sidewalk instead of pavement, I guess.’

‘Makes sense,’ Harry conceded. 

‘You lot all call him Voldemort then?’ she asked directly.

He shrugged. ‘Some do, some don’t. Some prefer He Who Must Not Be Named, which I find entirely too theatrical. I think it depends where you’re from, like you say. Grow up in the muggle world and there’s not a terrorist in it whose name isn’t dared spoken. Here everyone’s a bit more superstitious.’

‘A terrorist? What is that?’

‘Well...Imagine there were lots of Voldemorts, all fighting for different things, all over the world. Muggles call them terrorists.'

Daphne was silent. She took a deep drag on her cigarette. Harry did the same.

‘It is am apt name,’ she said softly. ‘Not that I am particularly prone to terror.’

 

He believed her. It was difficult to imagine the coolly calm Daphne being afraid of anything at all. His scar began to itch and he put Voldemort out of mind. Absently, he rubbed at it with the heel of his hand.

‘You okay?’

‘Just a headache.’

‘It’s all that smoking, it’s not good for you,’ she teased.

They laughed.

‘Who’s there?!’ 

‘Shit, Filch!’ Daphne cursed, stubbing out her cigarette madly.

Harry could now see the swinging light from Filch’s lamp around the corner. He flicked his cigarette away and pulled the invisibility cloak from his pocket. Daphne was halfway out her seat and he grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her back down. She gave a small squeak of protest but was silenced as the cloak flew over them. Harry indicated they should make themselves as small as possible, and she pressed into his side. 

They both barely breathed as Filch and Mrs. Norris walked by. He turned from side to side, the lamp sweeping over them and revealing nothing. Filch mumbled to himself and walked on after half a minute. The two remained frozen and quiet until they were certain he was gone.

‘Is this an invisibility cloak?’ Daphne whispered, despite them being quite alone now.

As she spoke, so closely to him, Harry realised he had looped an arm around her waist to pull her closer and she had pulled her feet up into his lap. His heart leapt into overdrive, and he almost forgot her question.

‘Uh, yeah.’

‘Where did you get it?’ 

Her grass-green eyes locked on to his.

‘It’s a secret,’ he replied.

‘I thought I was supposed to be the one with secrets.’ She smiled at him teasingly.

And that did it. Quite unable to stop himself, Harry leaned in and pressed a slightly clumsy kiss to her rose lips. To his surprise, the usually cool and calm Daphne let out a small huff of laughter before kissing him back. His slight offence at her laughter dissolved with the eager pressure of her lips on his. Her mouth opened and she tasted of smoke - a taste he now only adored more. He was pulled in further by her hands on the collar of his shirt. Feeling braver, he tightened his grip on her waist to feel the curve of her body with his fingertips.

She travelled kisses up from his mouth to bite down gently on his ear lobe, her fingers digging slightly into his shoulders, and Harry thought he might die happy then and there.

‘This is a scandal,’ she whispered in his ear.

‘Front page of the prophet worthy,’ he agreed.

She drew back to kiss him full on the lips shortly. ‘Let’s go down to the lake.’

Harry indulged in another long kiss with her before pulling back the cloak. Daphne grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the water. He stared at the back of her dark, heavy hair in dumb amazement. Was this really happening? He glanced back at the bench, half-expecting to see himself still sitting there. 

At the edge of the lake, Daphne cast a warming charm on the stones before sitting down. Harry collapsed next to her as she tugged him down by the hand. Laughing a little, he pulled her into another kiss. Her lips were as soft as new petals.

‘Is this where you take all your new conquests?’ he teased.

Daphne snorted. ‘Is that what you think of me?’

‘I don’t know  _ what _ to think of you.’

‘Good answer.’

‘What do you think of me?’

‘I think…’ she mused, looking out over the lake. ‘I think you’re not the person I thought you were.’

‘And who did you think I was?’ 

She turned back to smile at him mischievously. ‘Remember last year, the Triwizard cup?’ He nodded hesitantly. ‘And you got extra points for  _ outstanding moral fibre _ _?_ That’s what I thought of you.’

Harry laughed. ‘Yeah, that followed me around for a while. I just did what anyone would have.’

‘See, you keep saying that but the fact is other people were there and didn’t. You should give yourself some credit.’

Harry shook his head. ‘It’s honestly all just one big coincidence that I’m still alive. I’m not special, I didn’t do anything amazing, I just survived. I really should be the Boy Who Didn’t Die.’

Daphne smiled at that. ‘Alright, Boy Who Didn’t Die, riddle me this. If that’s true - that you’re simply in the wrong place and the wrong time every time - why don’t you ever take a step back and let someone else handle it? The troll in the dungeon, for example, you could have told a teacher. The French girl at the bottom of the lake, you could have left her. The snake that almost ate Justin Finch-Fletchley, you could have walked away - but you tried to convince it to leave him alone. Why?’

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. With annoyance he admitted, ‘Hermione says I have a “saving people thing”. I just...If I can do something to help I’m going to do it.’

Her smile became gentle, her eyes soft. ‘I’m surprised,’ she murmured, ‘that someone can be so giving in a world that have given nothing back.’

Harry blushed with embarrassment. ‘I wouldn’t say that. I’m a wizard at a magical school. I’ve been given plenty. Wait - how do you know what I said to that snake?’

‘I may or may not be a parselmouth,’ Daphne admitted. ‘And we may or may not have been speaking parseltongue this whole time. I was wondering when you would catch on.’

Harry’s mouth dropped open. Now she had pointed it out, it was obvious. As plain as the nose on his face it was parseltongue falling from her lips. He stared out at the lake, dumbfounded once more.

‘I always forget,’ he muttered, feeling the sibilance on his tongue now, ‘that I can do it. I can’t believe we’ve been talking in it for so long.’

‘It’s easy, when you don’t have to think about it.’ Daphne shrugged. ‘Me and my sister used to do it all the time when we were younger. It drove my father insane.’

‘He doesn’t speak it?’ Harry guessed.

‘The Greengrasses are a matriline,’ she explained. ‘The ability is passed from mother to daughter.’

‘Wow…’ 

Harry tried to wrap his head around it. Even after all these years, parselmouth still felt unreal to him. To be sat there speaking it fluently, unknowingly, was bizarre. At least for once he wasn’t using it on an actual snake.

‘Does that mean the men who marry into your family take your name?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled brightly. 

‘And if you have a brother? Do their partners take the Greengrass name.?’

‘That’s not an issue,’ Daphne said conspiratorially.

‘Why?’

‘Greengrass women only give birth to girls.’

‘ _ What? _ ’

‘Only girls,’ she said with pride. ‘For every recorded generation since the fourteen hundreds.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Ever heard of magic?’

Harry shook his head and laughed. ‘No, seriously. I’ve never heard of that before.’

Daphne shrugged. ‘It’s an old spell, long forgotten now. Some Greengrass way back when decided she wasn’t having any boys and neither were the rest of us. Thus the matriline was born.’

‘That’s insane.’

‘I rather like it. I could have been stuck with some other birth curse, like the Malfoys.’

‘The Malfoy’s have a birth curse? Also, birth curses are a  _ thing? _ ’

She giggled a little, kissing him and holding his cheeks in her hands. ‘You are adorable. Do they just drink butterbeer and throw punches in Gryffindor?’

‘Hey,’ he warned her, ‘says the parselmouth Slytherin with a birth curse.’

The snogging resumed, unable to be tempered by conversation any longer. Harry came up for air with Daphne beneath him, her leg hooked around his own. He would need to put some space between them or he was going to embarrass himself soon. But her green eyes in the moonlight held him fast. The feeling of her hands in his hair was electric.

‘What were we talking about?’ Daphne said, her voice a little dreamy.

‘Birth curses.’

‘Oh, how cold. Let’s talk about something else.’

‘Like what?’

‘What’s your favourite book?’

‘Don’t have one,’ Harry replied. ‘Yours?’

‘How can you not have a favourite book?’ she demanded.

He shrugged as well as he could without shifting his weight from his elbows. ‘I don’t read that much.’

She scowled a little. ‘Well that’s changing. Let me up.’

Harry acquiesced and rolled off her. Daphne sat up and reached into her robes. She pulled out a miniature book, which swelled to ordinary size at a wave of her wand. She handed it to him.

‘This is my favourite book,’ she explained. 

‘ _ Wuthering Heights _ ,’ Harry read. ‘Is this a muggle book?’ He examined the pages - despite their worn look the finish was quite modern and new. The illustration on the front cover stayed quite still.

‘Yes. Muggles have a far greater selection of fiction. I insist you read it.’

‘Okay.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll read it, but then you have to do something for me.’

‘And what's that?’

‘Meet me here tomorrow night?’

‘Already done.’


	4. Four

‘Where have you been?’ Hermione asked the second Harry stepped foot in the common room. She didn’t even look up from her book as she spoke.

Harry resisted the urge to grin. ‘Here and there, I went for a walk.’

She looked up as he sat next to her - very unsubtly taking a deep breath through her nose. She deflated when she smelled no smoke. Harry had to hide his smirk with his hand at that.

‘Go anywhere interesting?’

‘Just the lake.’

A little cold still, Harry scooted towards the fire. In the orange light he examined the book Daphne had given him once again. He turned it over to read the blurb. It all sounded overdramatic to him. Nevertheless, he opened the frayed pages and began to read.

‘What’s that?’ Hermione asked immediately.

He lifted the book to show her the title cover. Her eyebrows almost flew off her face.

‘Why are you reading  _ that? _ ’

Harry shrugged. Thinking on his feet, he said, ‘It was Dudley’s summer reading, but there was no chance of that ever happening. I thought I’d give it a shot.’

‘Oh…I didn’t think you’d like that sort of book.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s very gothic,’ she explained, ‘very romantic. I didn’t particularly care for it, but it is a classic.’

_ Romantic _ . That explained a lot. He was getting the sense Daphne was all fluff under her cold, mysterious exterior. He turned his attention back to the book - and it required a lot of attention. Harry had to admit it had been an obscene amount of time since he had sat down to read a book for enjoyment, and this was not the easiest reintroduction. The sentences were dense, lengthy and old-fashioned. He found himself hunched over the pages, running his fingers across the page not to lose his place. It was more like hard work than enjoyment.

‘Mate!’

Harry started and looked up at Ron. He must have been talking to him, but Harry hadn’t heard a word. He carefully folded down a much folded page to mark his place. He wondered how many times Daphne had read this book.

‘Sorry, what?’ he asked.

‘I said,’ Ron continued, ‘how far are you with that charms essay?’

‘Oh, uh, I’ve got a plan I just need to write it out now,’ Harry said. 

Ron sighed in relief. ‘Great, I thought I was really behind. Hermione finished hers a week ago.’

Harry looked around to notice Hermione had left at some point. ‘Mate, you know you can’t take Hermione’s work ethic as a baseline.’

Ron laughed. ‘True. Do you want to work on it tomorrow night?’

‘I can’t tomorrow.’ Harry scrambled for an excuse. ‘I said I’d visit Hagrid. Friday?’

‘Yeah, cool. Tell him hi from me?’

‘Yeah, I will.’

Harry felt a little guilt in his chest - he really should visit Hagrid soon.

 

Harry tried to keep his cool but the second he saw Daphne appear at the top of the stairs he had to fight the smile on his face. She, of course, was cool as ice. She descended on her dancer’s feet, a glint in her eye. As easily as if they had a hundred times before, they came together in a passionate kiss. The fire in him that led his hands across her waist was brand new, but so familiar. He felt reinvented in her presence: Godric Potter, ordinary teenager.

‘Evening, Daphne,’ he said.

‘Hello, Harry,’ she greeted with a smile. 

‘Good day?’

‘Can’t complain. You?’

‘Well, I could always  _ complain _ .’

Daphne laughed. ‘It would hardly be fitting of  _ you _ to complain about anything.’

‘I complain plenty, you just don’t hear it.’

‘Actually, I take that back. You do complain - about all the wrong things, like quidditch and Malfoy.’

Harry chuckled. ‘My two true passions.’

‘And what does that make me?’ she teased, winding her fingers into the back of his hair.

‘My guilty pleasure?’

Daphne mused, her eyelids heavy and her lashes almost obscuring her gaze. ‘Do you really feel guilty, though?’

‘No,’ he admitted, pressing a kiss to her throat. ‘Not at all.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ she hummed knowingly.

Hand in hand, they walked around the edge of the lake. The sun was about finished setting, just a small patch of sky glowing over the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The water was still. It was a peaceful night. Harry felt like his heart was doing backflips. Daphne’s fingers snaked around his own.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Harry blurted out.

‘You can ask, but don’t rely on an answer,’ Daphne replied, lighting a cigarette.

‘What’s it like being in Slytherin?’

She paused as she thought. Harry took the opportunity to light a cigarette - the damn things were good for pausing to think. It kept the hands and mouth busy, and stopped useless stuttering. He also definitely felt more patient when waiting for her answer.

‘It’s a difficult question,’ she finally said. ‘I suppose it’s like having a big family.’

That was not the answer he had expected. ‘Really?’

She smiled. ‘Yes, but I don’t mean like a big, fairytale, love-each-other-no-matter-what family. I mean like a real family, where there’s always at least one cousin you can’t stand and an uncle who won’t stop bragging about his horse and your mother who won’t stop fussing over the decorations, and you just want to leave but you kind of enjoy the drama. Like that, y’know?’

‘No,’ Harry laughed. ‘That sounds awful.’

‘It’s fun,’ she defended. ‘The intricacies of the social hierarchy are so much more interesting when everyone is constantly trying to reach the top. I guess we’re just the kind of people who enjoy that.’

‘Are you trying to reach the top?’

She shrugged. ‘Not really. I told you - Greengrasses keep to ourselves. We make ourselves a nice little space in society and we stay there.’

‘And what’s your space?’

She smirked. ‘Purveyor of fine goods,’ she replied. ‘I provide a valuable service.’

‘And everyone just respects that? No one tries to undercut your prices?’ he teased.

‘Oh, they’ve tried. Like I said, once we have a space we stay in it. Cuckoos are not tolerated.’

She spoke plainly as always, her tone not speaking to the heavily implied threat in her words. Daphne loathed competition - he could tell from her perfectly blank expression. It cleared after a moment, however, and she turned to smile at him gently.

‘What’s it like in Gryffindor?’

Harry shrugged. ‘It’s fun. Competition isn’t treated quite so harshly.’ He poked at her ribs and she squirmed, her smile widening. ‘It’s loud, and comfortable, and more like how I would describe a family. It’s a no man left behind attitude.’

‘I suppose there are quite a few of my own house I would happily put out onto an ice float to die,’ Daphne mused. ‘I couldn’t imagine bearing any sort of loyalty to half of them.’

‘And I couldn’t imagine turning any of my house out -  not in any meaningful way.’

‘You must think I’m a monster.’

‘No.’ He shook his head and vanished his cigarette butt. ‘I wish I was more like you - I could do with being a little ruthless.’

‘Then just be ruthless, Harry, there’s no big trick to it,’ Daphne announced bluntly. 

‘I just can’t...I can’t hurt people.’

‘You don’t have to hurt them, not necessarily. Just stop laying yourself down for everyone at every turn and corner. You can help people without sacrificing yourself.’

‘You say that but all evidence points to the contrary,’ Harry replied drily.

Daphne pulled him to a stop and took his face between her hands. Her eyes latched onto his and he was frozen.

‘Listen,’ she said firmly, ‘you do not owe anything to anybody, except kisses to me.’

Laughing, Harry obliged.


	5. Five

As was her recent custom, Daphne looked for Harry at the breakfast table. He usually sat in the same place each day, with the same people, and ate the same thing - buttered toast, sausage and egg. She took a certain delight in catching glimpses of him living his life - so unaware of how truly impressive he was. She was so infatuated with him she scared herself. He was simply fascinating.

This morning, however, he was absent. The whole crowd of them were. She forced back a frown and followed Blaise to the table. She sat down and helped herself to breakfast, wondering where he could be. She scanned the room again.

‘Where do you think the old bat is?’ Blaise asked.

Daphne saw then that Umbridge was missing from the teachers’ table. Suspicion grew inside her - something was wrong. She spooned jam onto her toast to belie her worry. It niggled at her heart.

‘Probably busy tattooing a kitten onto Draco’s other arm,’ she replied scathingly.

Blaise snorted. 

Daphne’s answer came with the morning Prophet, and a front page picture of Voldemort in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Her heart tried to claw its way up and out of her throat. She read the article dumbly - an attack on the Ministry foiled by Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore and others. She flipped back to the photograph to examine the prone body on the tile floors in the background: Harry. The article did not report any casualties, and Merlin knew Harry’s death would have been front and centre. She swallowed thickly.

‘Merlin,’ Blaise cursed, ‘he really did come back.’

‘I told you,’ Daphne murmured.

Chaotic discussion broke out across the hall. Daphne tuned it out. Harry had gone to the Ministry last night and taken on Voldemort. He had clearly taken in nothing she had said the previous night. His “saving people thing” was just as strong as ever. And now he was missing, probably suffering somewhere. She felt the pain of it along her diaphragm.

There were mixed reactions across the Slytherin table. Malfoy looked like the cat who had caught the canary, Parkinson too. Daphne glanced at her sister, sat a few feet down with her other third-year friends. Astoria was doing an excellent job of looking unconcerned. Daphne did the same.

She wished to rush from the hall and to their bench, hoping Harry would be there waiting for her, but it wouldn’t do. She forced down the rest of her breakfast as casually as she could, and made conversation with Blaise. When they rose she made her excuses and left - taking a winding route that passed by the library. Perhaps if she could spot Granger, she could spot him.

And spot Granger she did - in the arms of Weasley, sobbing quietly in the Charms section. Daphne crept as softly as she could behind the nearest bookcase, straining her ears. Their whispers were too quiet to pick up, however. Resorting to an item she knew would come in handy sooner rather than later, Daphne snuck an extendable ear onto the bookshelf. She held the string in her palm and pretended to be resting her head in her hand as she contemplated the titles.

‘...just don’t know what to say to him,’ Granger whispered in a broken little voice. ‘Poor Harry. He’s lost everyone now.’

‘He’s still got us, Hermione.’

‘I know, I know… It’s just so cruel, and he doesn’t deserve one bit of it. And the way he went is just…’ She dissolved into sobs once again.

‘Yeah, that veil is...ugh, I can’t even think about it.’

‘What are we going to do, Ron?’

‘We stand by Harry...and we avenge Sirius.’

Daphne’s cover was blown as someone noisily entered the aisle she hid in. She snatched up the ear and pocketed it, pulling the first book she saw off the shelf. She could hear Granger’s loud sniffs and coughs as she pulled herself together. Daphne busied herself with whatever she had picked up. 

‘What are you doing skulking around here, Greengrass?’

She looked up and stared flatly at Weasley’s angry face. ‘Funnily enough, reading.’

‘Let’s go, Ron,’ Granger insisted and pulled him away.

They hurried off, no doubt to find Harry. Daphne was determined to get to him first. She doubled back on herself, slipped through the exit just before them and down the hallway to a hidden passage. It led her down to the grounds, and from there she could loop around the edge of the building to their bench.

Daphne was not arrogant enough to think Harry would desire her comfort over that of his oldest friends. She was, however, confident enough to say she could offer a him comfort they could not. Not just a physical connection but a psychological one. She and Harry had simply clicked, and that kind of connection bloomed quicker than any other.

Sure enough, she found him on their bench - head in his hands and smoke rising from his lips. He looked awful - his uniform tattered and bloody. When he raised his head it was clear he had not slept a wink. He stared at her with eyes a thousand miles away. When he breathed his chest shook.

And Daphne felt the heartbreak she had read so much about.

‘Oh my darling,’ she said softly, ‘what did they do to you this time?’

Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Then we don’t have to talk.’

Daphne sat down next to him and lit a cigarette. She let him be miserable, his shoulders shaking in a non-existent chill. When he finished one cigarette he immediately lit another. It was something of him she had always suspected but never seen - the flip side to his heroism. No one could do what he had done, see what he had seen, without consequences such as these. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch the damaged skin of his forearm. What looked like tiny specs of glass were embedded in the deep scrape. It must have hurt like hell, yet he was flexing his hand repetitively and putting strain on the wound. Once again he was trying to regain control of his pain.

‘I suppose you want to know what happened?’ he eventually asked flatly.

‘I just wanted to see you,’ she admitted. ‘I saw the Prophet...I saw him.’

‘I guess they’ll believe me now,’ he hissed.

‘Yes, I expect so.’

He sat back, his leg bouncing anxiously and vigorously. Daphne let him think, content to be his silent companion. After several long minutes his movement slowed. Harry stubbed out his cigarette and looked at his fingers.

‘You were right,’ he murmured. ‘I have to stop running to save everyone.’

‘No, you don’t.’ She sighed. ‘It’s what makes you yourself. You don’t need to apologise for that.’

‘But if I hadn’t, he would-’ he cut himself off. 

‘I’m not going to ask you to tell me anything you don’t want to,’ Daphne assured him. ‘I just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead.’

Harry huffed out tired laughter that soon turned to tears. Daphne opened her arms and let him cry against her collar. Gently she whispered to him words that she hoped would comfort,

 

_ 'Do not stand at my grave and weep _

_ I am not there. I do not sleep. _

_ I am a thousand winds that blow. _

_ I am the diamond glints on snow. _

_ I am the sunlight on ripened grain. _

_ I am the gentle autumn rain. _

_ When you awaken in the morning’s hush _

_ I am the swift uplifting rush _

_ Of quiet birds in circled flight. _

_ I am the soft stars that shine at night. _

_ Do not stand at my grave and cry; _

_ I am not there. I did not die.' _

 

For it was not difficult to deduct that whoever Sirius was, unnamed in the Prophet, had died last night. Mercifully, Harry had slowly stilled as she had spoken. When she stopped his breathing was soft once again. His arms encircled her and pulled her to his chest. He smelled of stale sweat and salt water, but she nevertheless held him in return.

‘I’m going to miss you this summer,’ he spoke into her hair.

‘Well, you don’t have to,’ she reasoned. 

‘What?’ Harry pulled back to stare at her.

‘As previously mentioned I do go into the muggle world, but I suppose with Voldemort wandering around it’s not too safe now…’

Harry snorted. ‘Nowhere is safe now.’

She smiled at his pessimism. ‘Then let’s do something, in London, before we all die.’

Triumph sang in her chest when he smiled back. ‘Okay. What do you want to do?’

‘Let’s go to the art museums. I like art that can’t insult you for staring too long.’

‘Alright. What about modern art?’

Daphne wracked her brain for the term. ‘I don’t think I know it.’

‘Then let’s go to the Tate Modern. I went there on a school trip once, it’s...Well, it’s not like the art here at Hogwarts anyway.’

‘Okay then. Two weeks from today, at 10am, I’ll meet you there.’

He gave her a long, sad look. ‘Thank you, Daphne.’

‘For what?’ she breathed.

‘For letting me live before I die.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem 'Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep' is by Mary Elizabeth Frye and can be found here: https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/do-not-stand-at-my-grave-and-weep/


	6. Six

Harry tried desperately to convince his hair to lay in a position that didn’t look as if he had just rolled out of bed, and failed. He sighed at his reflection with pain.  _ Failsafe Ways to Charm Witches _ had recommended self-care highly. So in anticipation of his date with Daphne, he had bought a new shirt and trimmed his nails and plucked the one annoying hair that grew directly between his eyebrows. He had even bought new glasses in a vain attempt to a) look at least a little bit cooler and b) not be recognised so easily on the off chance they ran into any wizards. The frames were thicker than his old ones, but he had been assured by the very pretty optometrist that they were very in style and suited him very well. The weight difference irritated his nose, and he tried not to snort and sniffle every three seconds.

‘Wot you doin?’ Dudley demanded, having thrown open the bathroom door and encountered Harry there.

‘None of your business, Dudley,’ Harry muttered, trying once again to push down an unruly section of hair.

Dudley laughed piggishly. ‘You got a date wif your boyfriend?’

‘Girlfriend, actually.’

Dudley stared at him stupidly. ‘Wot? You’ve got a girlfriend?’

‘I know, shocking isn’t it? Especially with you being the lady killer in the family. Excuse me.’

Harry made a quick escape from the house before Dudley could go blabbing to his parents. He made his way to the train station, fingering the change in his pocket. The roll of notes in his jacket inner pocket burned. It turned out it was very easy to convert galleons to pounds if you just asked the Goblins nicely, and Harry felt it was about time he treated himself.

Harry arrived at the Tate Modern with fifteen minutes to spare. As was now his habit, he lit a cigarette. It was a weekday, and not as atrociously busy as London was at the weekend. He cast his eyes around for Daphne, slightly worried about what she would turn up wearing. She had promised she had been in the muggle world before, but Harry could only picture the wizards at the Quidditch World Cup two years prior in their bedsheets and smoking jackets.

However, when she appeared through the crowd, she looked perfectly muggle and perfectly gorgeous. She wore a sundress and delicate sandals, her legs soaking up the summer sun. She pulled off a pair of sunglasses as she spotted him, balancing them on her head and pushing back her long, loose hair. She smiled widely, and so he did in return.

Harry pulled her into his arms and kissed her, once again marvelling at how easy it was to be with her. Daphne’s arms snaked around his neck, her slim body pressing against his.

‘Hello, darling,’ she greeted. ‘Long time, no see.’

‘It’s been insufferable,’ he teased.

‘Nice glasses,’ she commented. ‘Very chic.’

He laughed and tugged her towards the entrance.

Harry had gambled a little with picking the Tate Modern. Daphne’s tastes, as far as he had been able to tell, were very classic. She, however, loved it. She adored the confusing sculptures and the abstract paintings. She sat for ages in the Rothko room, and babbled excitedly over Ai Weiwei’s work. Harry thought she was genuinely swooning over the Monet. It seemed she loved art as much as poetry. He bought her several postcard prints of her favourite pieces at the giftshop while she was in the bathroom. In return she had kissed him far too deeply for their public setting.

Afterwards, they walked along the riverbank to find somewhere for lunch. 

‘Here,’ he said, producing  _ Wuthering Heights _ from his pocket.

‘Oh, have you finished it? Did you like it?’ 

‘Did I like it…’ Harry mused. ‘I can honestly say I don’t know.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Um, I just guess the idea of missing someone dead so much you try to dig up their grave disturbs me, but is frighteningly relatable.’

‘I can understand that,’ she replied. ‘I suppose I could have made a better suggestion.’

‘No,’ Harry objected. ‘I wanted to read your favourite book. The thing is almost falling apart, though. How many times have you read it?’

‘More than I care to count. How about this place? We can sit in the sun.’

They sat in the sun and ate pizza, which Harry had had to stop Daphne using a knife and fork on. She struggled at first to eat with her hands - it seemed deeply foreign to her. He had no doubt she knew exactly which fork went with which course. The elegant way she sat did not escape him either. Her back was ramrod straight, her ankles crossed delicately, her skirt lying  _ just so _ . It was obvious when you looked at her that Daphne was raised well. Even the way she put her cigarette between her lips was smooth and precise. Although Harry almost leapt across the table at her as she fingered her wand from her dress pocket.

‘Daph!’ he snapped, the nickname rolling off his tongue all too naturally.

She paused and stared at him. ‘What?’

‘Use my lighter,’ he said, glancing pointedly at the wand half way out her pocket.

She blinked, slipping her wand away. Never one to lose face, she lifted his lighter from the table and examined it. He watched as she imitated the movements he had used, and as her blank expression grew yet blanker as her frustration increased. He reached out to cover her hand with his own.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘you have to press it hard to create a spark, and hold it down to keep the flame.’

She did as he had demonstrated and finally got it to work. As she smoked she contemplated the device.

‘That’s quite clever,’ she mused. ‘It must be annoying to have to have a different device for everything little thing, though.’

Harry shrugged. ‘Not if you don’t know any different. Although muggles are very good at combining multiple devices into one.’

She lit it again, staring at the flame for a moment before letting it go out. ‘Perhaps I should have paid more attention in muggle studies.’

‘Maybe you can quote this trip for extra credit.’

Daphne smiled. ‘And admit I was out and about with Harry Potter? I don’t think so.’

‘Ashamed of me?’

‘Not at all, especially not while you’re in all your finery. But I would like to stay out of the Prophet, not to mention Witch bloody Weekly.’

‘Witch Weekly?’

She snorted. ‘Granger must be sparing you the Potter columns. Since the Ministry you’ve become England’s most eligible teenage bachelor - misunderstood hero battles evil villain and rips his shirt while doing it. It’s fairly sickening.’

‘You’re joking, right?’

She smiled devilishly. ‘Oh, I’m perfectly serious. I believe there was submission from a certain R. Vane who is determined to get a date from you next year.’

Harry thought of Romilda Vane, who was stunning but an absolute gossip hound. He cringed at the thought of letting her claws anywhere near himself. 

‘Not to worry. I’ll jinx anyone who tries it,’ Daphne promised. 

‘Thanks. Any Slytherins I need to be worried about?’

‘Oh no, I don’t think so. My mother has made it very clear that I am very _in_ _ eligible _ and will not be debuting until I’m seventeen.’

Harry barked out laughter before he could stop himself. ‘Debuting? Are you serious? Do you and your family actually live in the 1800s?’

Daphne shook her head and laughed too. ‘She doesn’t want me distracted by boys, but at the same time demands I be married by the ripe old age of twenty. Merlin knows how she expects me to find a husband amongst the proles she insists of bringing to the house, but there it is.’

‘Wow. That’s...bizarre.’

‘That’s being a pureblood,’ she muttered. ‘And it’s all well and good for Astoria. She can’t wait to get married and pump out some screaming brats, but I’d rather like to have a life first. Garden parties cannot be the most exciting things I have in my future.’

Harry saw it then - why they fitted so well together. Both wanted futures it seemed they would not have. She, a future free of societal expectation; he, any sort of future at all. Harry grabbed her hand, more infatuated than ever.

‘I highly doubt it,’ he assured her. ‘Besides, if there’s one way to ensure you never have a boring life it’s hanging around me. Your number may be up already.’

Instead of laughing as he had hoped, Daphne looked at him steadily. ‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘for whatever happened at the Ministry...For whoever’s number was up that day. I’m sorry it keeps happening to you.’

Her grip tightened on his hand and Harry felt the sadness wash over him. ‘Thank you. It’s...not been easy, but...Sirius would have wanted me to carry on. He wasn’t one to mope.’

Daphne hesitated. He could tell by the way her teeth worried the inside of her lip. It was a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But of course, he did love staring at her face.

‘When you say Sirius,’ she began, ‘do you mean Sirius Black?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted. 

A small smile wormed its way onto her lips. ‘My mother went to school with him. She was rather taken with him, actually.’

‘Really?’ Harry smiled. ‘How do you know?’

‘Her old diaries,’ Daphne explained. ‘She thought she could tame his wild ways, but my grandmother said it would be an almighty job. My grandmother was friends with Mrs. Black, his mother, I forget her name-’

‘Walburga,’ Harry provided. He could still hear the screams of her portrait in his head.

‘Yes, Walburga Black. She was ready to disown Sirius, and only didn’t because he was her eldest. My mother used to hang around the Black estate in the vain hope of seeing him but he was never there.’

‘Probably because he was at my father’s house,’ Harry provided. ‘They were best friends. Sirius is...was my godfather.’

‘Well...It’s a good thing my mother was unsuccessful. Otherwise we would have been a little related.’

Harry laughed loudly, causing the man at the next table to jump. ‘We wouldn’t  _ actually _  have been related though.’

‘No, but can you imagine? Your godfather’s daughter? It’s a bit close. And they would have raised us together, purebloods are all about group child rearing. Well, getting drunk together in the next room while the house elves watch their children.’

‘I don’t think my mum would have gone for that, or my dad.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘The Potters were purebloods. I’m sure that’s exactly how he was raised.’

He shrugged. ‘Guess we’ll never know. As far as I am aware he never kept a diary. Do you keep one?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Are you deceptive by nature or by nurture?’ he teased.

She smiled coyly. ‘Guess we’ll never know.’

Harry paid for their meal, and they continued their walk along the Thames. The streets were beginning to fill now as people left work and went to bars to wind down. It also became pressing that they should end their day soon. Harry eyed the subway stop grumpily, not wishing to leave her what felt like so soon.

‘Harry, what’s this?’ Daphne asked, breaking Harry out of his thoughts.

She was pointing at a poster for the musical  _ Les Miserables _ . 

‘Oh, um, it’s a musical,’ Harry said. Her face showed no sign of recognition so he continued. ‘It’s like a play but they sing everything and there’s an orchestra.’

‘Really?’ She examined the poster. ‘I’ve read this book. I don’t get how you could sing your way through it.’

‘It’s a really famous musical, I think. Supposed to be very good.’

She examined the poster, not taking her eyes away from it as she fingered a cigarette from the pack. Harry smiled and wrapped her in his arms.

‘Do you want to go?’ he offered. ‘I’m sure we can get tickets.’

She turned to him and smiled. ‘I suppose I am curious.’

‘You’ll have to get dressed up,’ he warned gravely.

‘Oh how terrible.’

‘It is for me!’

‘Well, we’re not all totally averse to black tie.’

‘And not all of us have a no doubt walk-in wardrobe full of ball gowns.’

Daphne kissed him, and Harry realised how much he wanted this life.  _ This  _ life without Voldemort, without death, without sorrow, without house ties, without judgement - only the simple joy of kissing Daphne.

 


	7. Seven

Daphne hurried through the door, her heart still racing a little from her trip on the Knight Bus. Shelly, her house elf, appeared dutifully at her elbow. Daphne took off her sunglasses and handed them to her.

‘You’d best hurry, miss!’ she squeaked. ‘Dinner is about to be served up!’

‘Thanks, Shelly. I’ll be five minutes!’

She took the stairs two at a time and jogged to her bedroom. Hastily she shed her muggle clothes, and grabbed at what Shelly had laid out on the bed. The dark purple set of robes felt inordinately heavy after wearing a sundress all day. Quickly, she splashed water on her flushed face and neck and laughed quietly to herself. She felt head over heels.

Just one minute after seven, Daphne darted into the dining room. The rest of her family was already seated at the table. Her father cast her a stern look which she ignored, sitting beside Astoria. With a flourish, she spread her napkin across her lap.

‘Good of you to join us, Daphne,’ her mother said flatly. 

‘It’s good to be here,’ she replied just as coldly.

Her mother smiled a little. ‘Did you have a pleasant day?’

‘Very pleasant. And you, mother?’

‘Quite pleasant. Your sister’s dancing improves day by day.’

‘Been through the wars then, Tori?’

Astoria rolled her eyes. ‘How many times do I have to ask you not to call me that?’

Daphne smirked. 

Their bowls filled with soup and Daphne picked up her spoon. She was starving, despite their large lunch. It seemed being infatuated used up a lot of energy. She struggled not to slurp it down greedily.

After dinner they sat in front of the fire. Ordinarily, one of their parents would read to everyone for an hour or two. However, neither had come armed with a book tonight. Daphne cast her eyes around for a carafe of wine - did they expect company? She shared a short look of suspicion with Astoria.

‘Daphne, darling,’ her mother began warmly, ‘we wanted to tell you something.’

‘Yes, mother?’ Daphne fought to keep her tone neutral.

Her mother cast an indulgent smile at her father, who grinned back. 

‘Well, we’ve spoken on it at length and decided that you’ll debut this summer instead of next.’

Daphne’s heart gave a funny wriggle - somewhere between surprise and worry. 

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘It’s just a good time right now,’ her father began. ‘Your options are numerous, and not to debut you now would be to limit you considerably.’

‘Which options?’ she demanded, her voice a little harsh.

‘Daphne,’ her mother scolded, before continuing. ‘There are not specifics, but now is a good time for certain families before they become embroiled with other pursuits.’

‘May I ask which families, mother?’ She forced her voice to be polite.

‘The Nott family has rather a big year planned,’ came the all too casual reply, ‘and the Malfoys.’

‘The Carrows,’ her father added. ‘The Avery family also.’

‘What does it matter if I debut before them? We’ve no alliance.’

‘Well perhaps we have a growing alliance with them,’ her father replied.

Daphne felt her stomach drop. That group of families was unmistakable - every single one was flooded with Death Eaters. She stared dumbly at her parents, quite unable to believe her ears. Surely they would not...could not…

‘No.’ The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

‘I beg your pardon?’ her mother snapped.

‘No,’ she repeated it calmly, savouring the word. ‘I will not.’

‘Daphne-’

She cut her father off. ‘I will not debut for the purposes of those families. I won’t be a part of whatever growing alliance you seem so set upon. I will not.’

‘Daphne,’ her mother spoke softly, ‘you are getting ahead of yourself. We are not joining ourselves with them, but they are powerful and set to be more so.’

‘And is not debuting before them all a clear sign of alliance? Everyone knows I am set for next summer, if we change it now it is a very obvious alliance.’

‘You are overreacting,’ her father said. ‘This is nothing more than the clever thing to do.’

‘It’s political,’ she snapped, ‘and I’ll have no part in it.’

Daphne stood to leave. With a wave of her mother’s wand the doors of the parlour slammed shut. She turned to glare at her. She looked very much an older version of Astoria - dark blonde, thin nosed, rosy faced. When she stood she was willowy and graceful, ever the dancer. 

‘Daphne,’ she said sternly. ‘I’m rather afraid you have no choice in the matter. Your father and I have decided.’

‘Try as you might, mother, you cannot force me down those steps, you cannot force me to sing or to dance or to charm. Short of using the imperius curse there is no way on this Earth I will parade myself for the view of those Death Eaters and their foul offspring! And the fact you have even considered giving that crowd of  _ pond scum _ any hint that we are interested in their activities disgusts me, and disgraces our family name.’

Silence. 

The flick of her mother’s wrist was almost imperceptible, but Daphne felt the full force of the stinging spell across her back. She hissed softly, refusing to break eye contact. Her mother turned her wand over in her fingers, tempting Daphne to ask for another.

‘I suggest, daughter,’ she began in a cold tone, ‘that you think very carefully on your position in this family before you open your mouth to me again.’ 

Her arm snapped straight and Daphne fought back a flinch. However, the spell directed towards her hit the door and it swung open once more.

‘Goodnight,’ her mother ordered.

Daphne took her leave gladly, for she could feel the tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. She fled to her room once out of sight and barely made it through the door before the sobs climbed out of her throat. She collapsed onto the bed, the skin of her back still humming with pain. After a moment’s sobbing she felt the soft, wrinkled hands of Shelly on her cheeks.

‘There, there, miss,’ the house elf squeaked. ‘No needs for tears.’

‘How can they do this, Shelly?’ Daphne cried. ‘It’s against everything we’ve worked for!’

‘Shelly knows, miss, Shelly knows.’

With the aid of Shelly’s platitudes and a good, long cry, Daphne regained control of herself. Sitting up, she moved to her desk and pulled a sheaf of parchment towards her. Her quill inked itself as she began to write.

 

_ Dearest Blaise, _

 

_ Are you free for tea tomorrow afternoon? The hydrangeas have bloomed this week and I know you will appreciate their glory. _

_ Until we meet I remain _

 

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Daphne _

 

‘Post this for me, Shelly,’ she said, her voice wet and thick. ‘It’s to Blaise.’

‘The Zabini’s owl is staying here since the last letter,’ Shelley replied, taking the note. ‘I shall send it back with a full beak.’

‘Thank you.’

Blaise would understand her frustration. He too aimed to remain as distant as possible from this war. Luckily, it seemed his mother actually shared his ambition. Mrs. Zabini had no interest in power - only money. She had thought the Greengrasses were similar - without interest in power, only money and art. How wrong she had been. 

And then there was Harry - and she could not think of him now without her swollen heart breaking. How could someone fall so fast? Perhaps she was too much of a foolish romantic. Her eyes cast sadly over her books. Each one has described it but none had prepared her for the bone deep ache. The memory of his picture, just two weeks ago, prone and broken on the Ministry floor floated before her mind’s eye. Sniffing back more tears she pulled out her diary and flipped to its back pages. Her collection of quotes lay there faithfully, her comforts. 

 

_ Tell him yes. Even if you are dying of fear, even if you are sorry later, because whatever you do, you will be sorry all the rest of your life if you say no. _

 

  * __Love in the Time of Cholera__



 

 

She closed the diary over, struck through by the statement. She  _ would _ be sorry if she said no. Harry fascinated her - his proud and determined way, his easy smile, his secret soul, his complex way of being. The way he stood, walked, talked, scrunched his nose to push up his glasses, ate his food and played quidditch, the way he looked at her. Every drop of him fed her soul an electricity she had never felt before. And how dearly she wished she could talk to him on this subject - 

Fear arrested her heart. Harry could never know that her parents wanted to align with the death eaters. He would drop her in an instant, think her a spy or a plant or some baby death eater in waiting. No, he would never know.

A gentle tap at her door preceded Astoria entering. Both sisters were dancers, but Astoria looked far more the part - long and graceful even at thirteen, soon she would outgrow Daphne. Daphne sniffed, turning her face away to wipe at the last of her tears. Astoria shut the door and drifted to the open window.

‘It’s getting cold,’ Astoria said gently, ‘I’d better close this. I don’t think we have a good summer ahead.’

‘Positively dire, I have no doubt,’ Daphne agreed. ‘I shan’t do it.’

Astoria sat on the window seat and looked at her hesitantly. ‘They are our parents, Daphne,’ she said. ‘They must know what they’re doing.’

‘Must they? Because I think they’ve gone mad!’

Astoria wrung her hands together. ‘But we can’t be totally outwith society,’ she argued. ‘We’ve got to be favoured by somebody.’

‘No we don’t.

‘But no one will buy from you in Slytherin if it gets out.’

‘Then I’ll sell to other houses, I’ll sell to teachers, I’ll sell to muggles, I don’t care. If they don’t want to trade others will.’

‘That’s a lot of business to lose, Daph,’ she said weakly. 

‘And think of the business I’ll lose if I start prancing around with death eaters. It’s madness. Father will be jeopardising his position on the Wizengamot.’

‘Not if they win.’

‘But they won’t win! Nobody ever wins, not forever! Maybe they’ll take over the Ministry and maybe they’ll make us more powerful but it won’t be forever. Eventually someone else will come along and topple him and tear us down in the process. And good Merlin they won’t even win in the first place! Voldemort is nothing more than a crackpot half-blood who can’t even defeat a fifteen-year-old!’

‘Are you picking their side?’ Astoria’s eyes widened.

‘I am picking my side,  _ our _ side. And apparently I’m the only person in this family doing so!’

Her sister was becoming visibly upset. She huffed and let a few tears fall. She stood and began to pace back and forth anxiously.

‘You know, you’re not right all the time, Daphne! Other people can know what they’re doing as well!’

‘Tell me how I’m wrong,’ Daphne bid her sister coldly.

‘Because you’re not the only one in this family due to debut! And if you don’t do it then you know very well I never shall!’

She rolled her eyes in response. ‘I didn’t say I would  _ never _ debut, Tori. I said I’ll do it next year, as planned, without hordes of death eaters in the house.’

‘My name is Astoria!’ she shrieked. 

‘Oh, get the hell out,  _ Astoria _ .’ Daphne stood and wandered into her bathroom. It was time for a long soak and a long think, without her sister’s flapping hysteria. ‘I should have known this was all about finding you a bloody husband.’

Astoria followed her into the bathroom, her face pink with rage. ‘And what’s  _ wrong _ with wanting a husband? What’s so wrong with wanting a family of my own?’

‘Do you truly have no greater ambitions in this life?’ Daphne sat on the edge of the filling tub. ‘Can you think of nothing else to dedicate your soul to than some man? You’re the most brilliant ballet dancer this family has seen in years - and you can’t dance when you’re nine months up the duff!’

‘Oh, that’s rich!’ Astoria spat. ‘You’re always reading that romantic tosh! You can’t wait to fall in love and make a big deal about it, and finally  _ write your novel _ .’

The sarcastic, biting tone of Astoria’s words made Daphne’s hand fly up of its own accord. She grabbed her sister’s blonde hair in a tight fist. Astoria cried out, but her defence was brought short by Daphne wrestling her to the ground.

‘At least when I write I will be  _ free _ . At least when I fall in love it won’t be with some snot-nosed boy I met at my own debutante ball. At least my ambitions go beyond this life we already know. At least I will not be another useless duplication destined only to carry on the Greengrass genes, good for nothing but squeezing out baby after baby!’

‘Daphne, let me go! You’re hurting me!’

Daphne released her sister, who was now sobbing in earnest. As she fled the room she paused in the doorway, looking accusingly at Daphne from violently red eyes.

‘Who gave you the right to judge me and my happiness?’ she hissed. ‘Who died and made you queen?’

Before Daphne could hurl back a response, Astoria was gone. She breathed a sigh of relief. Her sister and her dogmatic desire to be married grated her deeply. Their romantic sides were so similar yet different. Astoria wanted conventional love, Daphne wanted passionate, unbridled, dangerous love; and neither could fathom the other.

Well, if she wanted dangerous love she had it. She mused happily on the fact, her face ready to slip beneath the water Her peace was disturbed by a sudden  _ crack! _ She sat up with a small gasp - to see a house elf she didn’t recognise standing in her bathroom. The elf shrieked and covered his eyes.

‘Dobby is most sorry, miss! Dobby is only meaning to deliver this letter!’

He stuck out his hand that clutched a folded note. Daphne took it from the elf hesitantly and opened it.

 

_ Dear Daphne, _

 

_ I got us tickets to see  _ Les Mis _ on June 16th at 7.30pm at the Queens Theatre, London. Can you make it? _

_ Sorry about Dobby - he’s the only way I could think for us to send letters safely. As much as I trust you, I don’t quite trust my address anywhere near where the Malfoys might socialise. _

 

_ Godric _

 

She smiled so widely she thought her face might crack. So enchanted, she got out of her bath and, wrapped in a towel, put down her reply immediately.

 

_ Dearest Godric, _

 

_ Wonderful news. I look forward to it. _

 

_ You are rather clever when it comes to be being surreptitious. Perhaps a better name would be Salazar? _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Daphne _

 

She sent the elf, Dobby, off with the note and collapsed back into her bath. Still smiling, she let herself sink beneath the bubbles and dared to imagine it was actually love engulfing her. __

 


	8. Eight

_ Dear Daphne, _

 

_ So I just finished the book you recommended. Granted, it wasn’t as sad as  _ Wuthering Heights  _ but it wasn’t exactly cheerful. Also, I don’t know what you’re getting at in comparing me to Jane Eyre. Not a clue. Couldn’t fathom it. No idea. _

 

_ I thought maybe it was time I recommended something to you. I don’t know if you’ve already read it, but I liked it and it was much easier than the tomes you keep sending me. _

 

_ Until I see you again I shall endeavour to keep in good health and not die. _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Godric _

 

-

 

_ Dearest Godric, _

 

_ It appears you do have some taste after all. I loved the book. Gatsby is a little like me - attending extravagant parties and wishing only to be somewhere else. Although Daisy is rather too much like my sister in her selfishness. I would like to think of myself more as a Jordan Baker, rather above all the nonsense! _

 

_ Let us see how you fare with some poetry. I  _ _ will _ _ draw out the tender soul in you. _

 

_ Your gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover, _

_ Daphne _

 

-

 

_ Dearest Daphne, _

 

_ Try as you might, I don’t think my soul is tender enough for poetry. I’ve only ever half-way understood it when you said it to me. And if I keep trying I’ll give myself a St Mungo’s worthy headache. _

 

_ I have taken the liberty of rescuing some summer reading from a dunce I know and it all seems quite interesting. I have almost finished  _ To Kill a Mockingbird _ which I’ve loved. I’ll send Dobby with it when I’m done. _

 

_ I have to go away at the end of summer and I won’t be able to write. I think I can sneak away for one last outing before then. Meet me where we met the first time, at noon, in a week. _

 

_ Until then, Bright Star, _

_ Godric _

 

-

 

_ Dearest Godric, _

 

_ As usual, you undersell yourself.  _

 

_ I’ll see you in a week. Send the book immediately and we can discuss it then. _

 

_ As it is, I have rather a big event this upcoming month that I won’t be able to sneak away from. So we must resign ourselves to our last free meeting next week, and then return to our pretend ignorance of each other. At least it keeps things exciting. _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Daphne _

 

-

 

Daphne slipped the heavy necklace on, letting it settle across her chest and dip between her breasts, cold and electric against her skin. She adjusted her dress, allowing the barest strip of forbidden flesh to show at her neckline. She rolled her shoulders in the summer evening light. With care she applied drops of perfume to her throat.

‘You look wonderful, darling,’ her mother said proudly. 

Daphne smiled at her in the mirror. ‘Thank you, mother.’

‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

Daphne rose, drawing her white dress away from her feet as she slipped on her high heels. Her mother fussed with her veil - which Daphne had  _ almost _ convinced her to rid from the outfit. All she had managed to eliminate was the gloves. Instead, her wrists rattled with pearls.

Daphne could hear the sound of the party in full swing as they approached the ballroom. As they stopped by the staircase door, her mother pulled her into a long hug.

‘I am so proud of you, Daphne. You’ll be the most wonderful woman.’

Daphne hugged her mother in return and choked down the poison climbing up her throat. 

‘Thank you...and thank you for forgiving my initial reaction. I was scared to debut so early.’

‘I know, I know.’ She drew back and kissed her daughter on the cheek. ‘But you will be glorious.’

Her mother opened the heavy wooden door with a wave of her wand. As they stepped out onto the small landing at the top of the ornate staircase, Daphne heard her father’s voice boom out across the crowd.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is my immense pleasure to present to court for the first time: my beautiful, talented daughter, Daphne Greengrass!’

Daphne smiled brightly at the applause. She descended the staircase, arm in arm with her mother, smiling brightly and ignoring the flash of cameras as best as she could. At the base of the stairs, the crowd parted and allowed Daphne and her mother to pass directly to the dancefloor. In most families it was the father that danced first with his debutante daughter, but the Greengrasses were the only matriarchy in Britain. Plus, it did not hurt that each generation produced exquisite dancers.

So Daphne danced with her mother, her body more than used to the practiced movements. She did have to concentrate to keep up with her, however. Her mother had been an especially celebrated dancer at Daphne’s age - perhaps only to be upstaged one day by Astoria. Daphne’s talents lay more firmly in their family’s other legacy: music. Even now, distracted as she was in an arabesque, she could pick out each note from the orchestra. She would wow them all later with her musical prowess. 

The first chance Daphne got to really examine her guests was as she curtseyed deeply to their applause. As promised, every death eater scum family was in attendance. And she was ready for them. Discretely she brushed her hand over her necklace, bringing the latent magic to life. It had not been easy finding someone to enchant the pearls to listen and remember all they heard, and even harder finding someone who would shut up about it, but she had. And now she would gather every bit of evidence anyone could ever dream of having on these death eaters, not to give or to trade but to secure her own freedom. When it went south, as it surely would, Daphne would simply emancipate herself (and perhaps her irritating slip of a sister, depending on how charitable she felt) and let her parents rot in Azkaban. They would rue the day they tried to use Daphne as a political pawn.

 

-

 

Harry almost snapped his own neck he double-took so quickly at Daphne’s picture in the Prophet. It was not large, no taller than his index finger, and was accompanied by a few short lines.

_ Daphne Greengrass, heir to the Greengrass estate, debuted this evening of the 25th. She astounded the court with her musical talent, proving that the Greengrass family has once again adorned the court with an heir without equal in artistry, grace and beauty. _

Her portrait photograph moved as Daphne looked over her shoulder into the camera, her hair swinging and her smile radiant. She was beautiful. Her image turned its back and she walked into the crowd to disappear from view. 

Harry’s mind buzzed with questions. She had been so sure she would not debut until she was seventeen, not sixteen. And what was this about musical talent? Was it possible she could be yet more romantic than he had understood - and yet more alluring?

He found himself, for the first time in his life, wishing he were not at the Weasleys’. He couldn’t risk sending Dobby with notes to her here, nor risk receiving them. And how dearly he wanted to stare at her looping handwriting now, and smell the faint scent of her perfume on the parchment, and know that he belonged, in part, to someone outside of this war.


	9. Nine

‘So…’

Harry turned at the sound of Daphne’s voice. There she stood at the top of the steps to the Greengate, just as he had first seen her. She managed to be dazzling even in the backlight.

‘Care to tell me why you arrived late to the feast covered in blood?’

Harry smiled a little. ‘Not really.’

She laughed and descended the stairs quickly, jumping from the last and into his arms. Harry laughed with her, glad to once again be able to hold her. He swept an arm beneath her legs, and her hands held fast around his shoulders.

‘You’re incorrigible,’ she said teasingly.

‘Well, the joke is on you because I don’t know what that means,’ he replied.

Daphne tossed back her head as she laughed. Harry took the opportunity to kiss her throat.

‘Where have you been this past month? I’ve missed you,’ she said accusingly as Harry finally let her to her feet.

‘Not somewhere I am particularly at liberty to say,’ Harry replied. ‘What about you?’

‘Oh, you know, entertaining the high society.’

‘Oh yes, I did see your picture in the Prophet.’

Daphne grinned. ‘My mother was furious. She said my debut should have been at least half a page.’

‘Your mother lives in the last century.’

‘Yes, well, at least she is alive.’

Harry gaped at her. After a moment Daphne appeared to realise what she had said. She stared back at him with wide, alert eyes, awaiting his response. Her teeth worried the inside of her lip.

‘Did you...just make a joke about my dead mother?’

‘Perhaps,’ she breathed. 

Unable to help himself, Harry burst into laughter. ‘You horrible, horrible,  _ incorrigible  _ Slytherin! I should duel you here and now.’

Daphne smiled. ‘That’s why you like me, Harry.’

‘I think you might be right.’

Her head felt so small under his hands as he pulled her into a kiss. Daphne seemed to love introducing him to many firsts - first cigarette, first book of poetry and now first joke about his mother. Bizarre as it was, each moment he spent with her compelled him to add First Love to that list.

Out on their bench, Harry felt human again for the first time in a while. Despite their having returned to Hogwarts, she used the ornate lighter Harry have given her on their second trip into London. It was a chunky, zippo-like lighter embossed with the image of a hognose snake - her favourite snake, as he had discovered. After lighting her own, she held it out so Harry could light his cigarette too.

‘I have to say,’ she began, ‘I’m not happy about you buying your own cigarettes. You’re going to put me out of business.’

‘Yes, well, I was no longer happy with being ridiculously overcharged for said cigarettes. Besides, don’t I enrich your life in other ways?’

‘Ah yes, skulking around in the dark, how much richer could I be?’

‘Would you rather make out in the Great Hall?’

‘I would rather we didn’t have to sit outside.’

‘Well, I may have an answer for that.’

‘Really?’

‘Do you remember in second year when someone opened the Chamber of Secrets?’

‘Yes…’

‘Who do you think closed it?’

Daphne gave him her best blank stare. ‘You are not seriously suggesting that you’ve been into the Chamber of Secrets?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.’

‘And the basilisk?’ One of her delicate eyebrows raised at this.

‘Dead. I rammed the sword of Gryffindor through its brain.’

She scoffed. ‘Oh now I know you’re full of shit. You almost had me there.’

‘I’m serious! Look.’ Harry pulled off his jumper and rolled up his right sleeve. He turned his arm to show her the shiny, pale skin that marked where the injury had been. ‘When I stabbed it one of its teeth went right through my arm.’

Her fingers delicately measured the large scar. ‘And you survived deadly basilisk venom how?’

‘Phoenix tears.’

‘I have never heard a larger amount of nonsense in my entire life.’

‘It’s true! I can show you.’

She smirked at him as she stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Alright then, show me.’

Harry took her by the hand and tossed the cloak over them both with the other. Silently, he led her through the castle to the first floor. Once inside the relative safety of the girls’ bathroom, he tore off the cloak.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Daphne announced. ‘Are you seriously trying to tell me that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?’

‘How do you think she died?’

That caused her to pause. In her silence, Harry stepped forward and traced the snake carved into the tap. He bent his head and murmured ‘ _ Open _ ’ in Parseltongue. He skipped back a couple of steps to her side as the sinks raised themselves from the floor, revealing the tunnel that lead down into the Chamber. He took Daphne’s hand and pulled her forward.

At the edge she planted her feet. ‘How do we get down?’

‘We jump.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Are you afraid of heights?’

‘I am afraid of jumping into cavernous pits.’

‘Okay, I’m kidding, there’s a staircase over here.’

Taking her waist under guise of guiding her, Harry pulled her back against his chest and leapt into the darkness. Daphne let out a shriek that ended two octaves higher than anything he had ever heard. She landed heavily atop him, the crunch of bones in his ears initially drowning out her protestations. He laughed at the rage on her face as she got up and started pelting him with bones.

‘Don’t ever do that to me again!’ she cried.

Harry could barely reply for laughing. ‘I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist!’

‘Arsehole!’ she raged. She took a deep breath to calm herself. ‘You’re lucky I like you!’

Harry picked himself up. ‘Very lucky, Daph. Come on.’

Taking her hand once more, he led her through the chamber, describing events as they sprang to mind. He told her about how Lockhart had obliviated himself, how the ceiling had collapsed, how he and Ron had peeked around every corner with mirrors. At that she grasped his arm tightly.

‘The basilisk!’

‘Dead, I told you.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, unless there’s another one.’

‘Oh don’t joke!’

‘Daphne, it’s fine. You’re forgetting the most important thing here.’ She looked at him coldly. ‘We’re Parselmouths. If there is a basilisk, we’ll just tell it to fuck off.’

‘Oh, and that worked for you last time?’

‘Well, Voldemort got to it first so it wasn’t going to listen to me. But I think we’ll be fine if we encounter any other ancient basilisks bred by nutters.’

‘You’re insane,’ she breathed. 

They stopped before the final door to the chamber itself. Harry took both her hands in his and looked into her eyes. She levelled those cold emeralds on him.

‘Daphne, trust me,’ he implored.

Her eyes softened. ‘I do.’

When the stone snakes pulled back and the door swung open, Harry delighted in finally seeing Daphne’s mask crack. Her lips popped open as she stepped over the threshold, her eyes flying from one point to another. He let go of her hand and watched her wander into the chamber, examining the statues and cavernous space in awe. At the edge of the pool she gazed at the huge ribcage and skull of the basilisk, picked clean by rats no doubt. As Harry joined her side she was hovering her hand above the dome of its skull.

‘Careful,’ he murmured not to startle her, ‘that venom stings.’

‘Did you really kill it?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve lived more in sixteen years than I think any of us ever will.’

Harry frowned. ‘I wouldn’t call it living.’

She turned to him, suddenly taller as she balanced on her toes. With a smile and all the grace of a ballerina, she raised her arms out to either side and began walking along a crack in the stone floor.

‘ _ To be on the wire is life; everything else is waiting! _ ’

Harry watched with fascination as she floated by him. As she reached the point where the crack diverged into two she slowly descended to her feet and turned elegantly to face him.

‘You are something else,’ he said in appreciation.

‘I know.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'To be on the wire is life; the rest is waiting.' - quote from tight rope walker and high wire artist, Karl Wellenda


	10. Ten

Harry was unsurprised to see that Daphne was a member of the Slug Club. She looked perfectly comfortable at the large dinner table. Her body was relaxed as she talked with Blaise Zabini. Her face was a perfect mask of haughty boredom, as if she was done with the whole affair.

Hermione pulled him down to sit next to her, her eyes dashing about madly.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked

Hermione looked at him with worry. ‘I think Cormac McClaggen might have been invited.’

‘So?’

‘So?’ she repeated. ‘Really, Harry, have you not been paying attention all year? Cormac keeps asking me out and I can’t keep thinking of good excuses.’

‘Just tell him to sod off.’

She scowled at him. ‘You know I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

She leaned in and lowered her voice. ‘Not after the quidditch tryouts.’

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘You know you don’t owe him anything, right?’ he replied in a mocking whisper.

‘I know! I just feel so guilty!’

Harry smiled at her. ‘Well don’t, it doesn’t suit you.’

She took a deep breath and sat up straight again. ‘You’re right. I should just...let it go.’

‘And if he asks you out again tell him I’ll personally throw him off the astronomy tower.’

‘If who asks you out?’

Both started slightly at the smooth, soft voice of Blaise Zabini. He sat across the table from them, fingers idly moving around a small decorative stone separated from the centrepiece. He looked directly at Hermione. She flustered a little, looking at Harry first before looking back.

‘I don’t see what business that is of yours,’ she replied hotly.

Zabini spread his hands in surrender. ‘Just making conversation, Granger. This is a party after all.’

Harry glanced at Daphne, still long and relaxed next to Zabini. Her eyes did not move from their amused contemplation of Hermione. Harry knew nothing of what Daphne thought of his best friend, and worry niggled at his heart. 

‘Blaise,’ she said, ‘you’re far too nosey. I’m sure Granger’s love life is none of our concern.’

‘Correct,’ Hermione said with firm nod.

‘On the contrary I believe it’s a rather great concern of mine,’ Zabini continued, ‘considering how much I would like to be in it.’

Harry almost choked on air. Hermione looked no better. Daphne covered her face with her hand to hide her smile, casting a bright-eyed look to Harry. He raised an eyebrow at them both.

‘I…’ Hermione could not manage anything else. 

‘He’s winding you up, Granger,’ Daphne provided without a kind note to her kind words. ‘Blaise thinks his cock is God’s gift to women but we all know that’s champagne.’

Seamlessly, Daphne reached back a snagged a bottle of champagne from a passing house elf’s tray. With a wave of her wand four champagne glasses appeared. The tip of her wand traced the cork of the bottle and with a flourish it flew free, the loud  _ pop _ drawing everyone’s attention. 

‘Marvellous!’ Slughorn cried. ‘It is true what they say - Greengrasses make excellent hosts, so much so that you are outshining me!’

‘Oh, I couldn’t if I tried, professor!’ Daphne cried. ‘But I don’t think one little bottle will go around us all.’

‘How right you are. Champagne, please!’

The elves dutifully complied. Daphne filled the four glasses and Harry took his, battling with his grin. 

‘And what shall we toast to?’ Zabini asked.

‘Slughorn, of course,’ Daphne replied slyly.

With an uneasy look, Hermione toasted with them. It was easy to see how little she trusted the two opposite her. Harry wondered what Daphne was playing at in engaging her. It was a surefire way to attract disaster - for disaster it would be if Hermione found out they were dating. Thankfully, Slughorn finally sat at the head of the table and took charge of the party.

Throughout the meal he harassed each member of the party to reveal why they were there - who they were related to, what they have achieved, why they would be famous. Harry had almost curled up and died when Slughorn pronounced him the Chosen One. Hermione had struggled to explain dentistry to a room of wizards when asked about her parents. Zabini had been cool yet cagey when asked about his mother. Daphne smiled under Slughorn’s attention, the perfect image of a society princess.

‘And, well, there is no party until a Greengrass is invited,’ Slughorn complimented her.

‘Oh, you’re too kind.’

‘I wonder, perhaps, if you would entertain us all a little once we finish this dessert? I dusted off the old upright just for you.’

Daphne feigned modesty - Harry knew every bone in her body was confident. She agreed and was released from Slughorn’s attention.

True to her word, after the dessert, Daphne rose and took a seat before an upright piano in the corner of the room. She tested a few keys first, gaining the attention of the last few engaged in conversation, and then struck up a song. Her delicate fingers flew across the piano, but it wasn’t until she opened her mouth and a sweet, clean voice echoed around the room that Harry felt his heart constrict. 

As she sang, as she played, smiling as she did so, Harry was forced to acknowledge that with every movement he was more and more in love with her.

‘She’s quite good,’ Hermione acknowledge with quiet surprise.

‘Yes,’ Harry breathed. ‘She’s great.’

When Daphne finished she stood up and curtseyed to their applause. Her eyes met Harry’s. Whatever dumb expression he had on his face made her smile wider. He had to stop himself grinning like an idiot in return. It was unfortunate, he thought, that other people existed in their space.

Her song appeared to mark the end of the party. People began shuffling around, making their goodbyes. Harry desperately avoided Daphne’s gaze for fear his dopey smile would give everything away. At least he had a good excuse to stay behind, tasked as he was with extracting Slughorn’s true memories of Voldemort. Hermione wished him luck with it before leaving. 

Harry had no luck as it turned out. Feeling defeated he leaned against the front of Slughorn’s door once he had exited, breathing out a long sigh. This mission Dumbledore had given him was going to be much harder than anticipated.

‘What happened, peach?’

Harry started at the sound of Daphne’s voice. She slunk out from the shadows of a statue, her full dress rustling as she moved. In the moonlight she looked divine. Her smile was soft.

‘Peach?’ he repeated.

Darting her eyes around first to check they were truly alone, she approached him and placed a hand on his jaw. 

‘All soft but stone in the middle,’ she explained. ‘You don’t like it?’

Harry huffed out a soft laugh. ‘Call me whatever you want, Daph, as long as it’s not the Chosen One.’

The linked hands and Harry threw the cloak over them. He had taken to carrying it with him everywhere, and it proved to be useful. Silently they snuck down through the floors of Hogwarts, but as he turned to leave the first floor she pulled him back. Dutifully, he followed her to the girls’ bathroom, and to the Chamber of Secrets.

‘Old bench not good enough for you now?’ he teased as they watched the sinks reveal the entrance.

‘Well, I am a woman of expensive tastes.’

As they wandered through the tunnels to the main chamber, Harry asked, ‘What was all that with Zabini and Hermione?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why was he provoking her?’

‘Blaise isn’t quite as subversive as me, Harry. What he says he generally means. He probably does want to sleep with her. I thought I’d spare her his ministrations.’

‘Christ…’ Harry contemplated the idea. ‘Thank you. There’s no way that would have ended well.’

‘Well, I only did it for you. Don’t go getting any ideas about my being kind.’

‘Perish the thought.’

The chamber they entered was much changed from the last time he had seen it. A copious number of cleaning charms had been applied; the snake head fountains were running, spilling fresh water down the gullies at each side of the entrance that bubbled as it met the lake; the skeleton of the basilisk had been levitated and laid artfully along one long curved wall; an arrangement of dark green furniture crowded loosely around a fire pit, which lit itself at a wave of Daphne’s wand. The warm glow of fire transformed the space yet more into a cavernous, yet welcoming room.

‘As I said,’ Daphne announced, ‘I am a woman of expensive tastes.’

‘You did all this?’

‘Obviously.’

‘It’s amazing.’

She sat down and dragged him with her. ‘Well, I thought it would be more comfortable than sitting outside in the cold and dark.’

‘I’m getting the feeling that you always have to be right.’

She smiled in agreement, and Harry kissed her.

As they kissed the pressing thought occurred to him: now they were no longer outside, what else could they do? A body deep blush crept across his skin. He almost daren’t think of it, but surely she was not ignorant to it. They were quite alone - the only other parselmouth in the school being her sister and he doubted Daphne had shared the information. No one could disturb them, and the way her body pressed against his was mouth watering. Panicked, Harry pulled back.

Daphne stared at him. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. I just…’ His heart thumped in his chest.  _ Be brave _ , he thought.  _ You can be that if nothing else _ . ‘I just like you a lot,’ he admitted. ‘And I’ve never...liked anyone this much.’

She smiled slyly. ‘Well, I like you too. Very much. And there’s no need to be nervous.’

He felt the bright red blush on his cheeks. ‘This is mortifying,’ he added.

‘Do you just say whatever you’re thinking all the time?’

‘Not really. Mostly just to you. You’re a good listener.’

‘Well, what you’re usually saying is deeply interesting but nerves just don’t suit you. Whatever you think, say it; whatever you want, take it. Be assured I want to give it.’

Harry grabbed Daphne’s waist and pulled her into his lap, her knees spread on either side of his hips. She kissed him passionately, deeply, her tongue reaching for the depths of his soul. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can imagine any song you like for Daphne's. I personally always imagine a version of 'Everything Old is New Again' by Peter Allen, which you can find here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLJ0T5f27BU


	11. Eleven

Harry returned to his dormitory from dinner, his head full of Daphne as usual. He was seeing her again that night. Their meetings in the Chamber of Secrets were not as frequent as he would have liked, but each one was better than the last. He swore he would end up marrying her down there one day.

Dean glanced up at him as he entered. He nodded his head to a small owl on the window ledge.

‘I think it’s for you, mate,’ he said. ‘The thing almost took my arm off when me and Seamus tried to take the package.’

Harry frowned at the owl. Dutifully he gave it a treat and it flew out the window, leaving an unmarked envelope behind. Suspecting it was something from Dumbledore, Harry snatched it up and retreated to the safety of his bed curtains before tearing it open. What spilled out was a thick stack of photographs; wizarding photographs that moved vibrantly. 

For a long moment Harry wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Crowds of well-dressed people at a party, talking in large groups, or posing austerely for the camera. He flicked through them, until she caught his eye and his blood turned cold. 

It was Daphne, dressed in white, kissing Bellatrix Lestrange on each cheek. He recognised the heavy pearl necklace she wore from the photograph in the Prophet. This was her debutante ball, and despite all she had told him about her family’s neutrality, there she was schmoozing with death eaters. There she was curtseying to Lucius Malfoy, smiling at Alecto Carrow, shaking hands with Theodore Nott and his family. There she was dancing for their delight, singing to that crowd, doing exactly what she had said she never would. 

And it broke his heart.

Harry hastily cast a silencing spell on his enclosed bed to disguise his laboured breathing. He had not expected heartbreak to be so physical. It felt like his diaphragm was pulling itself apart. He put a hand over his chest to quell it to no avail. His mind buzzed uselessly, unable to think around the pain.

After several long minutes, Harry gathered himself. He shifted the pictures into a pile and tucked them back into the envelope. An eerie calm settled over him as he moved from his bed and out the dormitory. He was not due to meet Daphne for another hour, but he could not stew where he was. He had to take action.

As it turned out she was also early. When the door to the chamber swung open she looked up from an armchair, smiling at him. Her beauty made his heart crack yet further, but it also brought the white hot anger of betrayal to him. He strode towards her and threw the pictures down on the coffee table.

‘Hi to you too,’ she muttered sarcastically.

He said nothing as she leaned forward and picked up the parcel. Delicately she extracted the photos, and Harry watched her face drop. For a minute she just looked through them, her face colder with every second as she tried to hide whatever emotion floated at the front of her mind.

‘Where did you get these?’ she asked a little hoarsely.

‘Someone sent them to me by owl,’ Harry replied, his voice harsh. ‘Someone who clearly knows about us and wanted me to know about  _ you _ .’

Daphne looked up at him. ‘Harry,’ she said calmly, ‘this is not what you think.’

‘Isn’t it?!’ He snatched the photos from her grasp and rifled through them. ‘Is this not you? Is this not your debut?’ 

He thrust a photograph of her at the piano into her face. She snatched it and glared back at him.

‘Yes, it’s me! But-’

‘But what? Daphne, you told me your family was neutral! You told me you had nothing to do with Voldemort!’

‘And I don’t!’ she snapped. ‘My parents organised the ball, invited the guests, everything. I didn’t want to associate with them.’

Harry scoffed. ‘If you didn’t want to then why did you? Did they curse you down those stairs?’

‘Harry,’ she spoke firmly, ‘you are blowing this out of proportion. It was just a stupid society party.’

He gaped at her. ‘Do you not realise that we are at war? That the people at this stupid party are criminals? That you spent all night dancing with some of the most evil people in the country?’

She appeared to grit her teeth. ‘That doesn’t mean that I am one of them.’

‘Well, you’re not exactly denouncing them!’ 

‘The onus is not on me to pick a side in this war!’ she shouted, standing up and tossing the pictures onto the table. This time they spread out, each one more incriminating than the last. ‘I have chosen to remain independent. The actions of my parents are not my actions!’

‘These are your actions! Yours!’ Harry picked up the photo that hurt him the most. ‘This is Bellatrix Lestrange  _ you _ are kissing! She tortured the Longbottoms into insanity, orphaning one of my friends! She killed Sirius this summer! She cast the spell that killed the last remaining member of my family and she  _ laughed! _ ’

Daphne’s face crumpled into sadness. ‘Harry…’

‘And you’re wrong! You  _ do _ have to pick a side, we all do! Because this isn’t some distant war in another country, this is our lives, all of our lives. And we must choose if we want to do what is right or what is  _ easy _ .’ He thrust the picture into her hands accusingly.

‘Harry, please…’ Her voice was thick with sobs. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t care,’ he snapped. ‘I was stupid to believe you - I should have known you were a self-serving  _ brat _ . Keep the chamber, I won’t be down here again.’

‘I am not a brat!’ she cried at his retreating back. ‘How dare you?! I am trying to retain my family’s pride and independence!’

Harry stopped by the door. ‘You’re right, you’re not a brat. You’re a fucking coward.’

As he left he heard the echoes of her rattling breath. It hurt more than he could have ever anticipated.

 

-

 

Daphne stormed into the common room, her eyes casting about for that hated blonde head. 

‘Where’s my sister?’ she snapped at the nearest person. ‘Where’s Astoria?’

It turned out to be Crabbe, who shrugged uselessly. She paced quickly through the room to the girl’s dormitories, passing by her own door to the fourth year rooms. She hammered on it.

‘What?!’ a voice called back.

‘Is Astoria in there?’ Daphne demanded.

A series of hushed whispers was followed by a ‘No!’

Cursing under her breath in Parseltongue, Daphne withdrew her wand. One quick spell and she tossed open the door. The little crowd of girls looked up at her in surprise, Astoria among them. Daphne pointed one finger at the door.

‘Get out,’ she ordered coldly. ‘All of you except my sister.’

‘This is our dorm!’ one of them protested.

Daphne glared at her viciously. ‘Did I stutter?’

After a moment’s hesitation the girls filed out. Daphne slammed the door shut and cast a series of protective and silencing spells on it. Those gossip hounds would have to be very talented to hear a word. She turned back to Astoria, who was now standing in her nightdress with a hesitant look on her face.

‘I know it was you,’ Daphne hissed in Parseltongue. 

‘To what  _ it _ do you refer?’ Astoria replied coolly.

‘The photos. I know you sent them, you little sow.’

Astoria shifted on her feet, falsely confident. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘How did you know?’

‘You talk in your sleep, dear sister.’

Daphne flew at her sister and slapped her across the face. Astoria cried out, collapsing against the nearest bed. Daphne could no longer hold back her tears. She sobbed openly, bent over as she felt the weight of her heart pulling her down.

‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’ she gasped out. 

‘You’re the one fraternising with Potter! You’re going to get us all killed!’

‘Oh and our stupid fucking parents aren’t?’ Daphne finally sank to the floor. ‘You’ve poisoned him against me!’

‘It’s no more than you deserve!’ Astoria hissed viciously. ‘All that horse shit you spouted over the summer about being independent and you can’t even survive without some  _ boy _ .’

Daphne struggled to catch her breath to reply. ‘Tori, I loved him! And you’ve ruined everything!’

Astoria crouched down to speak directly in Daphne’s face, her breath hot and harsh against her sister’s cheek. ‘You ruined everything when you decided you were better than everyone else in this family.’

She shoved her away, her voice rising to a shriek. ‘I hope your heart gets broken one day!’ She climbed to her feet. ‘Because when it does I’ll be there to rub it in!’

‘My heart won’t get broken,’ Astoria replied smugly, ‘because I won’t fall in love with Dumbledore’s cannon fodder.’

Daphne stared at her sister. ‘When did you get so cold?’

Astoria glared back. ‘I learned it all from you, Daph.’

‘You are a poisonous, insipid creature,’ Daphne whispered harshly. ‘You may not think it now, but in years to come, one night you will be lying in your bed and you will realise how thoroughly you have betrayed the one member of your family trying to save you.’

‘Save me?! Save me from what?!’ 

‘From slavery to that madman, these mad people!’ Daphne scrambled in the pocket of her robes and withdrew the crumpled photograph. ‘Do you know what she’s done? Her alone?’ Astoria studied the photograph of Bellatrix Lestrange in silence, so Daphne continued. ‘She kills people for sport, she bragged about it to me. She hunted a muggle couple through the streets of London until they were blind with fear and then she killed them, and she called it  _ wonderful fun _ .’ Daphne realised she was whispering now, and moved closer to her sister.  ‘These are the monsters our parents are trying to bind us to.’

‘We don’t pick sides, Daphne,’ Astoria whispered back, her expression numb ‘Just because she’s evil doesn’t mean we go running into the arms of Harry Potter.’

‘Of course it doesn’t. I don’t want to pick sides. I just wanted to  _ love him _ , and be free.’

But Astoria’s eyes were still unchanging. Daphne had never seen her sister so hard. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes for a tense moment. Astoria took the photograph between her thumbs and forefingers and tore it into two.

‘I would like to survive this war, Daphne.’ She tore the photograph again. ‘I don’t care how many times I have to break your heart to do it.’

A fresh wave of tears confirmed to Daphne that she could not speak anymore. If she opened her mouth now she would start screaming and who knew when she would stop? So she watched her sister throw the remains of the damning photograph into the fire, then turn to sit at the window desk. Her blonde hair shimmered in the firelight, her fingers deft as she opened a book and began to read. After a minute Daphne found her legs again and left, her privacy charms melting behind her. 

She didn’t see the faces of Astoria’s dorm mates, or any of their Slytherin house. In her own dorm, she drew the curtains tightly around her bed and silenced the air. And finally she lamented the loss of Harry, the pressure of the war, and the bone-deep pain for her behaviour. Not for anything she had done in the past, but for what she must do now - sever her heart completely from that of Harry James Potter.

 


	12. Twelve

Harry had expected that it would become easier to see Daphne every day, that eventually he would not care about her, or her actions, or the way she turned her wrist each time she picked up her quill. It seemed the natural order that he would get over her and move on with this life. But he was only reminded of her words, spoken with quiet passion, as he lay his head in her lap and she read to him:

 

_ So, we’ll go no more a roving… _

 

And frustration accompanied his grief, because he could not remember the rest of the poem. He could not even remember the poet. She would know, of course. She remembered everything she read, and recited the most fitting words at every turn and corner. Daphne had words for everything and he was mute in comparison. Sometimes when he stared at the back of her head he wished he could look inside for just that one poem. Perhaps if he knew it he could finally move on.

For now, he would catch himself looking for her at every meal, in every class, on every outing. He would see her from the corner of his eye even when he didn’t want to. He could find her dark, heavy hair in a full quidditch crowd. And he tried desperately  _ not _ to look, but it shook him with fear. Perhaps one day he would look and she would be gone.

_ She doesn’t matter to you _ , he would tell himself.  _ She associates with the people who want you dead. She’s a liability. She’s heartless.  _

But then he would hear her sweet voice singing, her rose petal lips reciting, her laughter against his lips - she was the opposite of heartless. What she was, truly, was cowardly, and it was the one thing that kept Harry clinging to his sanity. He could not be with her, could not respect her, if she was so yellow and foolish.

So Harry threw himself into his research with Dumbledore, his schoolwork, his reading. She had infected him with her love of literature much to his chagrin. At first he had turned away from it, but then his mind wandered and worry set in fast. At least when he read he did not worry about Horcruxes or Dumbledore or visions in his head. Unfortunately, when he did read he always thought of Daphne and imagined himself discussing the text with her. He had taken instead to writing down his thoughts in anonymous letters to her. At first he had intended on burning them, but the thought struck him through with too much sadness. Instead he filed them away, hidden amongst his other schoolwork, for a day it wouldn’t hurt so much.

Neither Ron or Hermione appeared to notice. They were locked in an eternal battle with their own sexual tension, and Harry left them well alone with it. He had enough to digest.

Weeks turned to months, time passed. And she never even looked at him. He had expected at first they would exchange their usual glances out of habit, he certainly had. But Daphne did not move her head to him one inch. After a couple of months the hope died that she would. She had better self-control than him, better concentration. She had once showed him how she could play multiple musical instruments at the same time with magic, and still sing and smile as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Of course she could ignore him as if he had never existed. 

As December rolled in, Harry managed to convince himself that yes, it hurt, but he was used to pain. He was over her. He looked less often for her face in the crowds, dreamed of her less often. He had even quit smoking. He was contemplating bringing Luna to Slughorn’s party, as a friend, and swearing off dating anyone else while he was so busy. Love had made him giddy and weak, he had no time for it. 

All this he thought has he perused the library for something new to read. Madam Pince’s trolley had been abandoned beside him when she heard giggling from somewhere in her library. On top of the pile was a book a poems by Lord Byron - Daphne had favoured him. To prove to himself how much he was over her, Harry picked it up and flicked through the pages. The words were just words, uncomplicated and safe, and he was satisfied, until one poem almost struck him dead:

 

_ So, we’ll go no more a roving _

_ So late into the night, _

_ Though the heart be still as loving, _

_ And the moon be still as bright. _

 

_ For the sword outwears its sheath, _

_ And the soul outwears the breast, _

_ And the heart must pause to breathe, _

_ And love itself have rest. _

 

_ Though the night was made for loving, _

_ And the day returns too soon, _

_ Yet we’ll go no more a roving _

_ By the light of the moon. _

 

Harry put down the book and almost ran from the library, heart pounding. He had heard every word in her voice as if she had spoken to him yesterday. His feet, of their own accord, took him to the first floor bathroom. His hands traced the snake on the tap and just as his mouth began to form the words he saw himself in the mirror. His scar was throbbing red, bright against his pale skin, his eyes wide and his mouth open as he gasped for air. He looked like a man possessed. He turned the tap and splashed cold water on his face and neck. 

All his months of hard work had fallen apart over one poem. He loved her just as much as ever, but he could not be with her, and it hurt just as much now. Harry realised he had simply learned to live with the pain, as he did with all his pains. 

A second thought caused him to sag over the sink, his forehead leaning against the cool glass. She would not be there even if he entered the chamber. She had cut him off. She would have moved on by now. Daphne was not the kind to hang around - she was motivated, cunning. She was probably working on her business, devouring novels, writing poems, singing and laughing. She would not have waited for him to change his mind.

At least Harry knew that eventually, given enough time, all pains were bearable.

 


	13. Thirteen

Blessedly, Slughorn’s Christmas party was large enough for Harry to avoid interacting with Daphne. Instead he managed to stick beside Luna, and Hermione when she wasn’t darting around trying to escape McLaggen. Still, Daphne's presence pressed against him like the heat of an open flame. 

She looked stunning, of course, in a floating, gauzy gown that cascaded to the floor. Her hair had grown in the past months, by magic or otherwise, and now touched her waist. Around her neck was a heavy, black chain that sparkled in exactly the same fashion as the night sky. 

He was able mostly to ignore her, and further work on Slughorn, until Slughorn stopped the whole party just for her. He tapped his glass to draw everyone’s attention and he grinned.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have are in for a very special treat. May I introduce Miss Daphne Greengrass.’

And a curtained corner was suddenly illuminated, the rest of the candles burning low in the room. Everyone crowded around to see the makeshift stage where Daphne stood, alone, smiling gently at the crowd. She raised her hand and with a flick the curtain behind her raised to reveal a collection of shining instruments, all of them unmanned. Without turning, she raised her hand again in a steady sweeping motion and the instruments rose into the air, as if gripped by invisible hands. After a pregnant moment she gestured and gentle, delicate music began. She was playing every instrument behind her, and perfectly.

Two things shocked Harry about his performance. First, when she had demonstrated this ability to him briefly in the Chamber, it had been with just three instruments. Now she played no less than fifteen simultaneously. Second, he recognised the song. It was from  _ Les Miserables _ , the musical they had seen together that summer, a million years ago.

 

_ ‘And now I’m all alone again, nowhere to turn, no one to go to _

_ Without a home, without a friend, without a face to say hello to _

_ And now the night is near _

_ Now I can make believe he’s here…’ _

 

Her voice was strong and clear and breathtaking. When she sang, one hand moved to rest against her diaphragm and the other continued to conduct with the barest movement of her fingers. Harry forced himself to pay attention because he could not quite believe what he was hearing.

 

_ ‘On my own, pretending he’s beside me. _

_ All alone, I walk with him till morning. _

_ Without him, I feel his arms around me. _

_ And when I lose my way I close my eyes _

_ And he has found me.’ _

 

Could it be real? She must have been singing to him. But she had ignored him! It had been months! Even now he could not catch her eye, for she had closed them. Her head tilted back a little as she sang. Harry noticed now, too, that the strange charm on her necklace that mimicked the night’s sky was now creeping down her dress. The pale fabric was gradually, from the neck down, turning into an inky blackness broken up by hundreds of tiny stars. He struggled not to let his mouth drop open.

 

_ ‘And I know it’s only in my mind, _

_ That I’m talking to myself and not to him. _

_ And although I know that he is blind _

_ Still I say, there’s a way for us.’ _

 

Is that what she believed? That he was blind? He had thought it of her! His heart was in danger of beating right out his chest. He felt lightheaded.

But she was still one of  _ them _ , if not in mind then in her actions. He could not go back to her, no matter how much she invited him in! But...why invite him at all? Why admit after all this time that she still cared? Maybe she had changed. He hardly dared to believe it.

Daphne’s eyes snapped open, settling on his as if by magnetic pull, as the song reached its climax. 

 

_ ‘I love him, but everyday I’m learning! _

_ All my life I’ve only been pretending! _

_ Without me his world will go on turning, _

_ A world that’s full of happiness _

_ That I have never known!’ _

 

At that the swell of music dropped off suddenly, leaving only a single instrument to accompany Daphne’s deep and ragged breaths. Gone was the indifferent mask - her eyes were glassy now, her cheeks rosy, her brows worried with tension. She looked away from him - they had both been staring too long - and concluded the song.

 

_ ‘I love him. _

_ I love him. _

_ I love him, _

_ But only on my own…’ _

 

The music stopped the exact moment her voice did. There was a beat of silence that was instantly swallowed by great applause. Daphne stepped back a little, her hands falling to her side. Harry watched as she plastered on a smile, taking a moment to reconstruct her expression properly. She took her skirt between her fingers and curtseyed low to the crowd. It was all black now, all shimmering, all with the false depth of the sky. It was mesmirising. She was mesmirising. As she straightened up, Daphne looked Harry directly in the eye. He felt like a deer in headlights. After a moment she was drawn away by Slughorn presenting a bouquet of flowers to her. Harry swallowed thickly. 

Hermione’s voice drifted into his cloudy mind. ‘...can’t believe she was playing all those instruments at once! And wandlessly!’

‘Yes,’ Harry agreed numbly. ‘It’s amazing.’

‘The song was a bit sappy.’ Hermione grabbed to drinks from a nearby waiter, handing one to him. ‘The music was lovely though.’

‘Yes…’

‘Harry, are you alright?’

Harry blinked at her. ‘What? Oh, yes, I was just...thinking. Could you excuse me for a moment?’

He downed the drink. Hermione frowned at him as he shoved the glass into her hand and turned away. Feeling smothered, he stumbled out of the room into the cool, dark hallway. He walked to the nearest window and threw it wide open. Snow spilled in, dancing in the wind. His mind hummed uselessly. His heart did somersaults in his chest.

‘Can we talk?’

Daphne’s voice jolted him a little. He turned. She stood a few feet behind him, her face blank and cold, her head held high. 

‘There’s an empty classroom over here. We don’t have much time,’ she continued.

‘Yes.’ Harry coughed to clear his dry throat and followed her into the room.

She began speaking as soon as she locked and warded the door. 

‘I’m not here to beg for forgiveness, or anything like that. I just wanted to tell you some things. First, you were right.’ She looked a little harassed as she pulled a cigarette out of nowhere and lit it. 

‘About what?’

‘About making the choice between what is right and what is easy.’

Harry raised an eyebrow. ‘What are you saying? You’re going to denounce them?’

Daphne shook her head. ‘What is right for me is different from what’s right for you. What’s right for me is that I protect my sister, pernicious as she may be. And the only way I can do that is to remain where I am. I can no longer rely on the protection of our parents, and Astoria is too easily swayed. I’m the only thing standing between her and Voldemort.’

‘And that isn’t your easy option?’ he challenged.

‘By no means,’ she said coldly. ‘The way I see it I have three options: one, run to Voldemort; two, run to you; or three, stand my ground. The first, I lose you and any sense of goodness I may have retained. The second, I lose my sister and all security of my own life. The third, I lose you, I toe the line of security and goodness, I become entirely alone in this world, but I keep Astoria safe. The price is high, but you were right. I have to accept responsibility for my own actions, and not do what is  _ easy.  _ I have chosen to do that by remaining where I am.’

‘You’ve thought about this a lot.’

She sighed through her nose, blowing out smoke. ‘Yes, but when you eliminate the easy options you’re left with very little else. I just wanted to let you know.’

Harry swallowed, trying to digest what she had said. ‘What else did you want to tell me?’

She smiled a little. ‘You look handsome tonight.’

Daphne stubbed out her cigarette although there was half of it left. As she turned to leave, Harry felt panic in his chest. He didn’t know what to think, what to do, he just knew he had to keep her there. Because he loved her so completely he couldn’t go another day pretending she didn’t exist. When he opened his mouth he did what he hoped she had done on that stage - he confessed.

_ ‘You- you pierce my soul _ .’ 

She stopped, turning to him with an expression of mild shock. Harry swallowed, and wracked his brain for the rest of the quote.

_ ‘I am half agony, half hope.’ _ He felt his voice shaking a little, but he pushed through.  _ ‘I offer myself to you with...with a heart more your own than when you almost broke it _ …’

Harry’s face burned with embarrassment as she stared at him. He hated reciting things, his mouth sounded clumsy around the words. He made them seem childish and over the top. It was nothing like when she recited to him.

But the look of delight on her face made it worth it. The mask had broken again and she was smiling like the sun. One moment they stood across the room from each other, the next Harry had a hand on Daphne’s neck as they kissed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Daphne sings is called 'On My Own' from Les Mis. Inspiration for her performance was taken from this performance by the magical Lea Salonga: https://youtu.be/VjfmP7h3gBw?t=28
> 
> Harry's quote is from 'Persuasion' by Jane Austen. The full quote can be found here: https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/6766-i-can-listen-no-longer-in-silence-i-must-speak


	14. Fourteen

‘I don’t suppose I could convince you to spy on Malfoy for me?’

‘No,’ Daphne chimed, not looking up from the book she was reading. ‘I’ve got quite enough of my own scheming to work on.’

‘I thought as much.’ He collapsed onto the sofa next to her with a sigh. ‘He’s definitely up to something, though.’

‘Of course he’s up to something, he’s a Malfoy.’

‘So it’s not just him and his father that are conniving little rats?’

‘Oh no.’ Daphne folded down the corner of her book and turned to him. ‘They’ve been like that for generations. A Malfoy once tried to audit the entire Greengrass estate, accusing us of tax evasion because he was pissed off that my great grandmother wouldn’t marry his son. The audit would have been a years long legal event, dragging the Greengrass name through the mud, despite the fact we had committed no such crime. It was foul behaviour.’

‘What happened?’

‘She agreed to marry him, and the audit was called off. On the day of the wedding she stripped naked and danced on the Malfoy lawn until the son begged not to be married to her. So the wedding was called off and the Malfoys learned not to dick around the Greengrasses.’

Harry burst into laughter. ‘That’s amazing. Although, I think if I saw you dancing naked it certainly wouldn’t put me off.’

Daphne grinned. ‘Be that as it may, Malfoy couldn’t risk the embarrassment. At first they thought she would stop when the guests turned up. She didn’t. And Malfoy realised she would do exactly the same thing every time he pissed her off. When they called off the wedding, my great-grandmother bowed, said ‘My Lords Malfoy, thank you for the stage’ and disapparated.’

Harry put an arm around her, pulling her head down onto his shoulder. ‘Does that mean the next time I’m a prick to you, you’ll strip off in the great hall?’

Daphne’s fingers snaked through his own. ‘No, I’ll do something far worse. What are you going to do with that felix felicis, by the way?’

‘No idea. I’m sure the opportunity will present itself.’

‘Well, use it wisely. Don’t go swallowing it for a bloody quidditch match or something equally as inane.’

‘You don’t like quidditch?’

‘I don’t like the way it turns perfectly attractive men into brutes.’

‘Do you think I’m a brute?’

‘Hm…’ She sat up and considered his face. ‘No, you’ve never done a brutish thing in your life.’

The look on her face when he called her a brat swept across Harry’s vision. He looked away, ashamed, but not sure why. He had been right, she had been consorting with the enemy and without purpose.  _ She _ had betrayed  _ him _ , but he still felt bitterly guilty. 

‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,’ he admitted. ‘I was a brute then.’

Daphne turned his face back to hers with her fingertips. She pressed a kiss to his mouth.

‘What you said was harsh,’ she replied. ‘It hurt, but you were right. I was being as air-headed as Astoria.’

‘For someone you’re trying so hard to protect it doesn’t seem as though you actually like your sister.’

She smiled, settling her head in his lap. ‘My hope is that she grows out of it. If she doesn’t, at least I don’t have to live with the guilt of not protecting her.’

‘Do you love her?’

‘Yes, she’s my family. And soon enough she’ll be my only family.’

‘What do you mean?’

Harry watched Daphne’s eyes grow hard and cold. ‘I told you - the Greengrasses establish their position in society and cuckoos are not tolerated. The second my parents suggested moving the date of my debut they became the biggest, fattest cuckoos this family has ever seen.’

He frowned, and stroked the hair from her forehead. ‘They’re still your parents.’

‘And I’m their daughter, it didn’t stop them throwing me to the wolves. They tried to push me towards  _ Nott _ , the foul gremlin. What respect I had for them is gone.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I have a number of plans. I have to be ready when they are, you see. It’s not an easy game, but it is easier to play when your opponent doesn’t know you’re playing at all.’

She spoke to coldly, so firmly, and Harry supposed that was the difference between them. Daphne was ruthless, unforgiving, hard-edged. Harry cut himself away from people he could not tolerate - Daphne cut them loose from her.

‘Don’t you know that forgiveness is divine?’ he said teasingly.

That drew forth her smile. ‘I am not the forgiving type, Harry.’

‘You forgave me.’

‘Yes, but you used Jane Austen against me.’

 


	15. Fifteen

Daphne was woken by a distant  _ boom! _ She sat up in the darkness, perplexed. Had she dreamt it? Another followed. She flicked her wrist to light the lamps. Her dorm mates had stirred too and looked just as confused. Daphne slipped her dressing gown on over her pyjamas and ventured down to the common room. It was slowly populating with other confused people.

The portrait door was thrown open, and two seventh year prefects flew in.

‘It’s the dark mark!’ one of them cried.

‘It’s over the astronomy tower!’ the other completed.

‘Death Eaters are  _ here? _ ’ 

‘Impossible!’ 

‘You’re full of shit, Lennon!’

All chattering was suddenly ceased by the loudest  _ BOOM  _ yet, accompanied by the shattering of glass. The prefects began ushering everyone back to bed.

‘Astoria!’ Daphne called.

‘I’m here.’ She felt her sisters hand on her gown. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know,’ Daphne admitted. 

‘You’re not going out to fight them, are you?’ Astoria whispered fearfully.

‘Don’t be daft. Let’s go upstairs and get changed.’

‘What? Why?! You said you weren’t -!’

‘Shh.’ Daphne took her sister’s face between her hands. ‘We’re not going to do anything, but if they come here we need to be ready to run. You understand? We’re not hanging around to be heroes.’

Astoria nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Daphne kissed her cheek and pulled her back towards the dorms.

Daphne pulled on a pair of jeans and a thick jumper. Should they need to escape, the closest fireplace was in Hogsmeade and the night would undoubtedly be cold. She pulled her hair up swiftly into a bun. The hammering of her heart was sickening. She dared not turn her mind to Harry, even for a second, or she might go mad.

She met Astoria in the common room and they eased themselves into a secluded alcove. While distracted, no one would notice them in the shadows, dressed to leave at any moment. They couldn’t afford any baby Death Eaters chasing them down.

But silence had descended, thick and full. An hour passed in it, tensely. Daphne chewed the inside of her lip raw. Their wait was eventually broken by a cry of shock. Everyone jumped and turned to the offending person - only to discover it was one of the paintings who had cried out. 

It was a portrait of Lady Lucy Black - wife of the former headmaster Black. Quite the beauty in her youth, the painting had been donated to the Slytherin Common Room by the family. Now, the elegant figure held a handkerchief over her face, crying delicately into it. Another figure slipped out from her frame.

‘What is it, Lady Black?’ 

‘Oh! Oh, my dears! It is your headmaster! He has been killed!’

Murmurs of shock rippled around the room. 

‘Are the Death Eaters taking over the school?’

Lady Black pulled herself together somewhat. ‘No, my child. They have escaped into the night. Your teachers have fended them off. You are all perfectly safe.’

So the prefects began ordering everyone back to bed. Daphne clutched to Astoria, keeping them exactly where they were. 

‘Do you think we need to leave?’ Astoria whispered.

‘I don’t know. We need more information.’

‘How do we get it?’

Daphne’s mind ran over the possibilities. Harry would be her best bet - but that meant leaving the Slytherin dorm on her own. Astoria did not know she was seeing Harry again, and Daphne would not let her know. Astoria would have to stay and she would have to wander the castle at night, alone and with the threat of Death Eaters. The risk was too high, but then again...Her parents had given her an in. As far as they were concerned, she was one of them. 

Her instincts told her to hunker down, rely on others getting a sense of the situation, rely on her parents’ allegiance to protect them...but that was the easy option. She had to know  _ now _ if she and Astoria should stay or flee, because it was right.

_ Damn Harry Potter to the ninth circle of hell! _

‘Go back to your dorm,’ she whispered to Astoria. ‘I’m going to speak with Nott. I’ll see what I can get out of him.’

Astoria obeyed. Daphne cast a notice-me-not charm on herself and slipped out of the portrait door. 

The corridors were cold and quiet. She took her usual route to the Greengate. Once outside she could circle around the castle to the Astronomy Tower. The silence was oppressive. As she approached the gate the night was broken by a muffled roar. It sounded like a distant drum, or the cry of some strange monster.

It turned out to be fire.

Hagrid’s hut was in flames that rocketed up towards the sky. The man himself was desperately beating them out. Dark figures held wands aloft that shot jets of water, but to no avail. Daphne recognised the animal faces pressing themselves out from the fire - it was fiend fire, and no amount of water would put it out. 

She pressed herself into the shadows of the castle walls and continued. At the base of the tower was a crowd of teachers, and some students. She spotted Hermione Granger’s bushy hair in the moonlight. No doubt Harry would be there also. She approached slowly, melting into the crowd of other students. Everyone stood mutely, shivering in their pyjamas. Daphne craned her neck to see what they observed.

Of course it was Harry, hunched over the body of Dumbledore, sobbing his heart out. Daphne’s breath escaped her in a rush. She clasped a hand over her mouth to avoid making too much noise. A notice-me-not charm was easily broken, she had to be whisper quiet.

‘Come on, dear,’ McGonagall said, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘Let’s take him inside.’

Daphne tore her eyes away and assessed the situation. If Granger and the whole crowd of them hadn’t run, the castle had to be safe, at least for the night. Then again they weren’t exactly the running type. She worried her lip, eyes roaming over the scene, until someone caught her eye. 

Luna Lovegood stood amongst the crowd in a pair of brightly patterned leggings. She was a customer of Daphne’s, someone who trusted her and who she trusted (somewhat) in return. Plus Luna never said anything apart from exactly what she believed to be true. Daphne crept up to her, and tugged on her sleeve to break the spell. Luna turned to her with her owl-like eyes.

‘Oh, hello-’

‘Shh!’ Daphne bid her. 

‘Sorry,’ Luna whispered. ‘When did you get out here, Daphne?’

‘I came to see what was going on,’ she explained in barely a whisper. ‘Are we safe, Luna?’

‘For the moment. But now Dumbledore’s dead, Voldemort will probably try to take over the school. He’ll have to find a way in first, though, and we’ve already destroyed the Vanishing Cabinet.’

‘Vanishing Cabinet?’

‘Draco Malfoy repaired the one in the Room of Requirement. It’s how the Death Eaters got in.’

_ So that’s what the little worm has been up to all year.  _ ‘Thanks, Luna.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Daphne turned and fled back into the shadows, trying desperately to ignore Harry’s choking cries behind her.


	16. Sixteen

Daphne didn’t get to see Harry again until Dumbledore’s funeral, and she could not risk speaking to him there. He seemed entirely in his own, dull world anyway. His eyes lacked their usual vigour. It seemed he had cocooned himself from the pain this time. She could hardly blame him. Silently, she watched him from her spot among the small crowd of Slytherins in attendance.

He recited ‘O Captain! My Captain!’ to the heartbreak of everyone. Daphne watched him wipe his eyes roughly with his sleeve and step down from the speaker’s podium. His hand swept the sheet of parchment on which the poem was written into the breeze. For a moment he watched it being carried away, and then turned back to take his seat. 

After the funeral, Daphne waited for Harry in the Chamber. She knew it was likely to be a long wait and unshrunk the little piano she kept in her pocket. Playing was likely the only thing that would distract her long enough from her worry. She played Tchaikovsky because she knew Harry liked it, although he struggled endlessly to pronounce the name. 

Eventually he appeared. Daphne did not pause playing, but watched him sink numbly to the floor with his back to the piano. She played the keys a little harder so he would feel the vibrations more fully. Anything to shake loose the empty expression on his face. The song ended and she let them fall into silence.

‘Do you think the poem was okay?’ he asked.

‘It was perfect.’ Daphne slid from the piano stool to sit beside him. ‘Oh, my darling. I’m-’

‘Please don’t tell me you’re sorry,’ he interrupted her. ‘I can’t hear it one more time from anybody. Could you just…’ His eyes closed and his head dropped to her shoulder. ‘Could you sing to me?’

She took his head in her hands and moved it to her lap. Gently, she stroked his wild hair.

‘What do you want to hear?’

His eyes were closed, face pressed into her stomach. ‘Anything,’ he murmured against her.

Daphne thought for a moment and swallowed. She had sang the song to herself many times on the rare occasions she found herself alone in the chamber. Its echoes worked like another voice that instantly harmonised with her. But it was an ambitious song not meant for one person, a hymn, and in Latin to boot. 

One look at Harry's fallen brow made it clear he did not need words of comfort. He had already had too many by his own admission. So Daphne drew in her breath and sang, loudly enough for the chamber to echo it back to them,  _O quam mirabilis est._ She gave it every bit of feeling she could muster. The vowels made their way back to them as if blown on the wind. She closed her eyes and let her voice surround them.

Slowly, he began to relax.  His cold exterior melted and he relaxed into her touch. His hand came up to hold hers tightly.

‘Daph…’ he said softly when she finished.

‘Yes?’

His eyes finally opened, alive and troubled. Worry gnawed at her heart.

‘I have to go away for a while.’

‘Go where?’

‘I can’t tell you, but it’s important. I have something I need to do.’

Her breath stuttered as she drew it in. ‘Is this something to do with your saving people thing?’

‘No.’ He smiled a little. ‘This is to do with my not being killed thing.’

Her tears splashed down and soaked into his shirt. ‘How long will you be gone?’

‘I don’t know. Until it’s over.’

‘Is it dangerous?’

‘Of course it’s dangerous, it’s me.’

‘Will you die?’

‘No.’

Daphne choked up a laugh. ‘You’re a terrible liar.’

Harry smiled weakly at her, finally sitting up and pulling her into a hug. Daphne was no idiot. She knew he was marching off into some untold horror only he could defeat, and with a poor survival rate. She knew he had come to say goodbye.

‘Please don’t die,’ she whispered in his ear. 

‘I won’t, I won’t die.’

‘I am going to hold you to that.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Harry reads is 'Oh Captain! My Captain!' by Walt Whitman and can be found here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45474/o-captain-my-captain  
> The song Daphne sings is an Antiphon called 'O quam mirabilis est' written by Hildegard von Bingen. Anonymous 4's excellent performance of it can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2VWD9bsy2yg


	17. Seventeen

‘I beg your pardon?’

The words were out of Daphne’s lips before she had a chance to stop them.

‘I said,’ Amycus Carrow hissed out from between his rotten teeth, ‘curse her.’

Daphne’s eyes shot back to the trembling first year student before her. She turned her wand over in her hand and knew she could not do it. She doubted she could use the cruciatus on anyone, let alone an eleven year old girl. She looked back at Carrow.

She saw the whole year previous flash before her eyes - from Harry leaving, to the day she left Hogwarts for summer, to dodging dinners with Death Eaters, to smuggling Astoria from mandatory Inquisitorial meetings, to remaining silent in hateful classes on muggleborns, to hiding from Malfoy and his crew, to the present moment. Now she stood before her Defence class, wand in hand, and had to torture a first year. She had done a lot to remain separate from this war, ignored a lot of injustices, said things she nowhere near believed, but she could not do this.

_ This above all: to thine own self be true _

‘So this is what has become of the ancient and proud House of Carrow?’ she sneered. ‘Torturing children?’

When his arm cocked to throw a curse at her, Daphne threw up a shield. The spell ricocheted and blasted through the blackboard, raining chalk dust down on the floor.  She knew better than to throw an answering curse, despite how much she wanted to. Maintaining her shield, she turned to leave the class.

‘My family  _ owns _ yours, Greengrass!’ he spat at her. 

She stopped and twisted to stare at him. ‘Do you feel like you own me, Carrow?’

‘ _ Serpensortia! _ ’

Daphne almost laughed as the black, heavy snake fell at her feet. The rest of the class recoiled, gasping in fear and surprise, leaving their seats to press against the walls. She examined it coolly - five feet long, thick bodied, sharp nosed. Calmly she stretched out a hand to it.

_ ‘Come now, my darling, you do not serve this man.’ _

Obligingly, the snake rested its head in her open palm. Daphne stared up at Carrow, who had frozen in shock. She seized the snake in two hands and pulled it up onto her shoulders, thick and sturdy.

‘Thank you,’ Daphne said, ‘for summoning your own assassin.’

She turned and left, heart hammering, and once out of sight she began running for the Slytherin Dorm. Shame washed over her - what had she done?! She would have to leave now, and leave Astoria behind! It was intolerable. But she couldn’t have cursed that child! 

_ ‘Where are we going?’ _ The snake asked.

_ ‘Anywhere that isn’t here.’ _

No, she could bring Astoria. It couldn’t be too hard to find her. Daphne was stumbling down the stairs when the sound of her name distracted her. She turned, wand raised, to see Luna Lovegood looking back at her.

‘Don’t go that way,’ Luna said. ‘It’s not safe.’

‘I have to go, Luna. You saw what I did back there.’

‘They’ll never let you past the gate.’

Daphne felt the sting of frustrated tears finally resurface. ‘Then what do you suggest I do?!’

‘Come with me. I know a safe place.’

Considering both time and options were frighteningly low, Daphne consented to follow her. First, she dropped the snake from her shoulders. Instructing it to find Astoria and deliver the message that she was safe, still in the castle, and coming for her. It slithered off dutifully, blending into the shadows with the help of a quick charm from Daphne. Swallowing her nerves, she followed Luna back up the stairs.

‘Where are we going?’

‘It’s a secret,’ she replied softly. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone.’

‘Darling, I’m hardly the loudmouthed type.’

They ventured up to the 7th floor - the corridors blessedly empty as classes still ran. Once in an abandoned hallway, Luna marched up and down three times with a concentrated look on her face. Daphne wondered if the girl really  _ was _ mad. But a door appeared in the concrete wall as if it had always been there. Luna pulled it open and ushered Daphne inside.

She picked her way carefully across the threshold, casting a worried look back at Luna. Pushing back a heavy curtain, a whole room of people was revealed to her. She scanned their faces - their angry, concerned faces. The room was awash with Gryffindor colours and crowded with beds to match. Those who looked back at her were people she had assumed fled the castle long ago in the year.  _ This _ was the safe place? She turned back to Luna, eyes pleading.

‘This is Daphne,’ Luna introduced in her airy voice. ‘You’ll be safe here.’

‘Are you mental?!’ Seamus Finnegan cried. ‘She’s a bloody Slytherin!’

She had held her tongue too much this year, it could no longer be contained. ‘Really? I had no idea,’ she bit back.

Finnegan pointed an accusing finger at her. ‘You don’t belong here! Get back to your dungeon, snake!’

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ Neville Longbottom called the agitated room to order. ‘Luna, care to explain?’

Luna, as usual, was unfazed. ‘She refused to use the cruciatus on a first year,’ she explained. ‘Carrow tried to curse her for it, she resisted. What was it you said to him?’

Daphne glared at the accusing eyes opposite her. ‘I told him he had just summoned his own assassin.’

‘Oh, and we’re just expected to believe you’re suddenly all anti-Death Eater?’ Ginny Weasley piped up. ‘I know for a fact that your family are Death Eaters!’

‘My foul, cowardly parents are Death Eaters,’ Daphne spat. ‘My sister and I want nothing to do with this war. And I will not be admonished by Amycus fucking Carrow  _ or you! _ ’

‘Excuse me if I find it hard to trust you,’ Weasley replied, raising her wand.

‘I trust her,’ Luna piped in. ‘She sells me things I can’t get at Hogwarts - muggle things. She’s sold them to me for years and she’s never said anything.’

‘This is a bit different, Luna.’

‘Look, if you don’t want me here, fine,’ Daphne said. ‘I’m not going to give you up. Despite what you think I am not a monster, and you may be the last stronghold against the real monsters in this school. I have to find my sister and get out of here. Our number is up now.’

‘Getting out of here is impossible,’ a Hufflepuff said with a sigh. ‘We’ve tried everything.’

‘Could you spy for us?’ Longbottom blurted out.

Daphne shook her head. ‘The second I set foot in that common room I am fair game for the blasted Inquisitorial Squad...But I might be able to get you something, if you let me stay.’

‘What do you mean?’

She put on her best game face. ‘I’m a Parselmouth, I have a snake. There’s a simple enough charm that would allow her to understand English. She could relay information.’

Murmurs echoed around the room. Longbottom and a select few others, including the Weasley girl, huddled together to discuss it quickly. Daphne fingered her wand in her sleeve.

‘Alright,’ Longbottom announced. ‘You can stay in exchange for information, but you need to sign your name to our list.’

‘What list?’

‘Our membership list.’ He produced a folded parchment from his pocket. ‘Remember Marietta Edgecombe?’ Daphne did remember the horrible scars on that girl’s face. ‘You want to look like her? ‘Cause that’s what happens if you reveal us.’

‘Give me a quill,’ Daphne said, ‘if this is what it takes to convince you I’m not some evil succubus.’ 

They did seem a little shocked at how readily she signed her name. Truly Daphne had no desire to expose them - Dumbledore’s Army, as she read at the top of the page. Of course, the first name on this list was Harry Potter. Her heart squeezed itself tightly.

‘Have you heard from him?’ she asked casually. ‘Potter?’

‘She’s a spy!’ Finnegan cried. ‘She’s been sent to spy on us!’

‘Don’t be stupid. If I was a spy, I wouldn’t sign this and I wouldn’t be so bloody obvious, would I?’

‘No one tell her anything,’ Finnegan hissed regardless. ‘Until she’s proved she’s useful, we don’t let her out of our sight!’

Daphne rolled her eyes. ‘Just point me to whichever one of these gurneys is mine.’

She was ushered to the back of the room by Luna. They watched as a bed materialised from the floor, complete with dark green sheets. 

‘What is this place?’ She asked Luna quietly.

‘The Room of Requirement. It gives us everything we need. Well, except food. It can’t do food.’

Daphne’s mind whirled around that. They did all look a little thin, and she would not last long if they continued to mistrust her so deeply. She sat down on her bed and sighed.

‘Shelly?’ she called.

Her house elf appeared beside her. Before the open-mouthed could begin to hurl insults, Daphne spoke loudly.

‘Could you bring us all something to eat? Make sure my parents don’t see you. And bring plenty.’

‘Yes, miss!’

Shelly disappeared with a  _ pop! _ Daphne rolled her eyes over the wary audience before her. She shrugged.

‘House elves aren’t limited by the same wards as we are,’ she said, ‘and you look hungry.’

‘Thank you, Daphne, that’s very kind,’ Luna said proudly.

‘Don’t go throwing around words like “kind”, Luna. You’ll ruin my reputation,’ she teased in return.

It seemed Daphne had found the way to Gryffindor hearts - food. Once presented with copious amounts of sandwiches and pumpkin pasties, they all relaxed significantly. 

She lay back on her bed, finally letting her adrenaline drain away, and considered the mess she was in. It would undoubtedly get back to her parents that she had defied Carrow. She doubted the snake he had summoned was actually venomous, that took significantly more skill than he possessed, so she couldn’t really kill him with it. What would Astoria say? Who knew. Her sister was terrified half to madness by the whole situation. She had been useless all year and who could blame her? Daphne closed her eyes against the tears.

Neville Longbottom interrupted her thoughts, plonking himself confidently on the end of her bed. He seemed much changed from the previous year - taller and broader and far more sure of himself. Daphne drew up her knees and eyed him warily.

‘What’s it like in Slytherin?’ he asked. ‘Just now, I mean.’

Daphne eyed the audience he attracted. ‘It’s tense. Not everyone follows him, but you can’t really say that you don’t. The Inquisitorial Bastards will drag you to detention if you do and we’ve seen you lot come back black and blue from them. They of course think they rule the roost. It’s infuriating.’

‘Why don’t you fight back?’ 

She smiled a little. ‘Darling, we’re not Gryffindors. We’re all busy planning our own private revenges and, as I’m sure you know, it’s a dish best served cold.’

‘What revenge have you planned?’

‘Well, if I told you I wouldn’t be a very good Slytherin, would I?’

He studied her for a second. ‘You’re not how I imagined.’

‘And this is not how I imagined spending my seventh year. The world is full of surprises.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'This above all: to thine own self be true' is from Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 3


	18. Eighteen

 

‘Get dressed,’ their mother demanded, entering the studio. ‘We’re having company for dinner.’

Daphne paused in playing the piano and Astoria eased down from her toes. Their mother’s smile was as it always was these days - rigid, false. Each day since Voldemort had come into power had been the same. The atmosphere of fear and violence in the house only grew stronger. Their parents tried to chug along as usual, pretending it was all for the best. Daphne did all she could to shield Astoria from it. It was easier while they were at Hogwarts, but now they were back for Christmas it was another renewal of effort.

‘Who will be joining us?’ Daphne asked, feeling Astoria’s panicked gaze.

Mother smiled. ‘The Malfoys. You are acquainted with Master Draco, are you not, Daphne? I’m sure he will be quite pleased to see you.’

There it was. Daphne felt the weight of inevitability crash down on her. She swallowed, casting her eyes downward to conceal the hate within them.

‘Yes, mother.’

It only made sense. Daphne was seventeen now. The Malfoys had been at her debut. Draco Malfoy was set up to be powerful in this new world. No doubt he would be hotly contested by the families with single daughters. Without being conceited, Daphne knew she was very eligible and especially to the Malfoy family who had been trying to worm their way into the Greengrass estate for many generations.

‘Is Draco Malfoy not courting Pansy Parkinson?’

Daphne’s head snapped up to look at Astoria with surprise. Astoria avoided her gaze, looking earnestly and innocently at their mother.

‘Miss Parkinson?’ she scoffed. ‘Don’t be daft, Astoria. They’re two generations away from being squibs. No, Mrs Malfoy assures me her son is quite unattached and rather taken with Daphne, my dear.’

Astoria turned her apologetic eyes to Daphne. She felt her heart break a little and mouthed ‘thank you’ while their mother’s back was turned.

She was under no illusion Malfoy had any interest in her. This was a set up of convenience; the inevitability that had hung over her all her life. She was at a loss as to how to avoid it, short of slipping poison into Malfoy’s coffee.

‘And,’ their mother ploughed on in a cheerful tone, ‘they have a Yaxley cousin staying with them at the moment. A very accomplished young man, I have been told. Astoria, will you make sure he is made most welcome?’

At that, Daphne felt her heart turn to ice. She looked at Astoria, whose face was paler than snow. Her eyes sparkled with shocked tears. Daphne stood from the piano.

‘Forgive me, mother, but Astoria has not yet debuted. The entertainment of our young, male guests should fall to me.’

The answering smile was pinched. ‘Don’t be silly, Daphne. This is the modern age. Astoria can entertain the young man.’

Panic swelled in her chest. Daphne could take the blows, play the game, survive. Astoria, as vicious as she could be when backed into a corner, did not deserve to be backed into that corner at all. She was just a girl.

‘Mother…’ Daphne paused to think, but there was nothing left for it. ‘I beg you to reconsider.’

Her mother’s face turned cold. ‘Daughter, your father and I have grown quite tired of this rebellious attitude you have developed. The day and age we live in now is no longer that of your youth. We must play the game by their rules now if we are to survive. If the Malfoy Family requests Astoria entertain their guests then she shall do it. One more objection _from either of you_ will not be met with continued calmness. 

‘Get dressed, both of you. And I expect better faces at dinner.’

As the door closed behind their mother, Astoria began shaking. Daphne took her into her arms. She was almost taller than her now, but felt as fragile as a bird. A moment later, frightened sobs followed.

‘It’s going to be alright,’ Daphne said quickly. ‘Just play the game, okay? They can’t make you marry him, not yet, not before me. I’ll drag it all out and...and...this will all collapse, okay? It can’t last forever.’

‘Oh, Daphne!’ Her wet face pressed into the hollow of her sister’s throat. ‘You were right.’

‘What?’

Astoria drew back to look her in the eye. Hers were not so green as Daphne’s. They were flecked with brown, a rich hazel that set her apart from the rest of the family. Daphne had used to tease her about them.

‘You were right,’ she sobbed. ‘When you said I would regret hurting the one member of my family trying to protect me. I couldn’t see it then, but...all this year, all you’ve done for me...Can you ever forgive me?’

Daphne embraced her again. ‘Do you think I’d spend all this energy on you just to bear a grudge? You are my sister. That is reason to forgive enough.’

‘Should that not make the wound deeper?’ she cried.

‘Tori!’ Daphne snapped, drawing her back and holding her at arm’s length. ‘Perhaps it would have been were there not more pressing troubles upon us. We have too much to fight to fight each other.’

Astoria nodded, mopping at her eyes. ‘Yes. You’re right. What do I need to do?’

Daphne took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘I don’t know anything about this Yaxley cousin. So we need to be on our guard. Be shy, demure, make him think you’re a wallflower and it will slow everything down.’

‘Mother will see through it,’ Astoria argued softly.

‘She will but there’s nothing we can do about that, nor anything she can do. I’ll attract the attention so you have little time to talk. All you really need to do is pour him a couple of drinks, laugh at his jokes and be polite.’

She nodded. ‘Are you going to be alright entertaining Malfoy?’

‘I can handle Malfoy,’ Daphne said firmly. 

‘Do you think…?’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Do you think they’ll make you marry him?’

Daphne’s heart squeezed painfully. Her lips were dry when she licked them. ‘I’m going to do everything in my power to prevent it. Sadly, I don’t have much power right now, but it won’t it won’t stop me trying.’

They lapsed into silence, both at a loss of what to say. Daphne gave her sister a bitter smile and set about gathering the sheets of music on the piano. Astoria bent over to untie her ballet shoes.

Astoria sniffed and spoke suddenly. ‘What was that poem? The one about the sisters and the goblins and the fruit?’

‘ _Goblin Market_ ,’ Daphne said, feeling a smile at the edge of her lips.

Later that evening, just before the sisters were due at dinner, Shelly delivered a note to Daphne in her room. It was a copy of the final stanza of the poem, with the final part underlined:

 

_"For there is no friend like a sister_

_In calm or stormy weather;_

_To cheer one on the tedious way,_

_To fetch one if one goes astray,_

_To lift one if one totters down,_

_To strengthen whilst one stands."_  

-

Daphne was wrenched from her reflections by the cool snakeskin on her palm. She opened her eyes to see the snake returned, its head brushing over her fingers.

_‘Your sister says she is safe. Once she heard what you had done she gave herself a dose of untreated kidney root. She’s in the hospital wing.’_

Daphne was impressed. It seemed Astoria had been prepared. Untreated kidney root would make her just sick enough to be admitted to the hospital wing for a few weeks - enough time to figure out her next move. Plus Pomfrey ruled that place with an iron fist, she would be safe. Daphne was a little annoyed she hadn’t thought of it herself.

_‘Thank you. What is your name?’_

_‘I was called Penelope.’_

_‘Where were you before you were summoned?’_

_‘I was in a cage. It’s good to be free.’_

Daphne smiled. _‘How would you like to explore yet further?’_

She charmed Penelope to understand English and sent her off to spy on the Death Eaters in the castle. For good measure she asked her to listen in on all the teachers too in case they said something useful. People leapt out the way as Penelope slithered across the floor.

‘Is she dangerous?’ someone asked.

‘Only if I ask her to be.’

‘You fucking disturb me, Greengrass,’ Weasley muttered.

‘Darling, you have no idea.’

Weasley cast her a cold look, flipping her vibrant red hair over her shoulder. Daphne had an instinctive dislike of her, not because she was a Weasley but because she was her well-known competition. She had been trying to date Harry for years. In her mind Daphne compared them - Weasley was taller, redheaded like his mother, sister of his best friend, loud and proud. Daphne was dark haired, suspicious, green-eyed like his mother, romantic and mean. She could hold her own against Weasley in a beauty contest, plus she could sing and recite his favourite poems. Weasley didn’t stand a chance, and Daphne smiled to herself over it.

Daphne withdrew a novel and continued to read. Weasley cocked her head to the side.

‘Is that a muggle book?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you were a pureblood.’

‘So are you, or have you forgotten?’

Weasley scowled. ‘I thought I was a _blood traitor_.’

‘Then I guess that makes two of us. Now, if you don’t mind, I am reading.’

Daphne couldn’t bear to be lost in her thoughts and she read too quickly. It was the only book she had with her and worry set in. As she thought of the small library in her trunk, a bookcase materialised beside her stocked with her favourites. She put a hand against the wood and silently thanked the room.

‘You like reading then?’ Weasley interrupted once more.

‘Yes.’

She snorted. ‘You should meet Hermione, she never has her nose out of a book.’

‘I have met Granger,’ Daphne corrected. ‘She was a member of the Slug Club.’

‘I suppose you don’t think much of her.’

Daphne was getting tired of defending her character. ‘I couldn’t give two hoots about Granger or her blood status, much like this conversation.’

‘You’re a real snob, Greengrass. You think you’re so much better than us.’

‘And your holier-than-thou attitude is getting old.’

‘I don’t trust you.’

‘I don’t care.’

Weasley paused, a little shocked. Daphne folded down the page of her book. She sat forward to stare deeply into Weasley’s wide eyes. She tilted her head menacingly.

‘I don’t care if you trust me, I don’t even care if you like me. I’m here to survive, Weasley.’

‘Well, I’m here to fight. Excuse me if I don’t appreciate the dead weight.’

‘When that snake comes back maybe I’ll keep the information to myself, since I’m such dead weight.’

Weasley made a disgusted noise in her throat before walking away. How did Harry put up with this? But of course, he was ready to fight at all times. He was one of these people. She struggled to digest it - he seemed not like them at all.

‘Sorry about her,’ Longbottom said with a smile. ‘You know what they say about fiery redheads.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve fried bigger fish in my time.’

‘What are you reading?’

‘ _The Count of Monte Cristo_.’

‘Never heard of it,’ he said with a pleasant smile.

Daphne wondered what he was playing at, but was suddenly reminded of Harry. Curious, happy in his own slight ignorance, friendly. It seemed Harry did fit in here, as one of the more open minded members of the house. She decided then to make the effort to befriend Longbottom. He would prove a useful ally, and...dared she hope...a friend in the future, when she and Harry could be a couple openly.

She brought to mind what she could remember of the Longbottoms. It was just the grandmother and Neville, his parents permanently sequestered in St Mungos due to insanity. Insanity, she knew, induced by Bellatrix Lestrange. Longbottom had been an awkward child, but had grown into himself. He seemed a natural leader, almost a successor to Harry himself in his absence.

‘So what do you do for fun around here?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘We spend a lot of time planning, in case we’re discovered or something happens. We listen to the radio. We talk. Hey, maybe you could give us a tune on the piano? I remember you played it at Slughorn’s parties.’

‘Oh, I don’t think they want to hear me sing,’ Daphne objected. ‘They aren’t exactly fond of me.’

‘If Luna likes you, I like you,’ he replied. ‘She’s a good judge of character, I’ve found.’

It was easy to see the glint in his eye. She suppressed a smile badly. ‘How long have you been in love with her?’

He started, looking at her as if she had three heads. ‘What?!’

‘Luna. How long have you loved her?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Okay,’ she snorted, ‘and the Pope isn’t Catholic. Look, Luna is incredibly smart but she’s also incredibly single-minded. You should tell her you’re interested before she diagnoses you with nargles.’

‘Didn’t think I came over here for love advice,’ he muttered.

‘What did you come over here for then?’

‘Just to get to know you. Instead you’re spilling my secrets all over the place.’ He laughed.

She shrugged. ‘It’s a talent.’

‘So what do _you_ do for fun?’

‘Read, sing, dance, try not to die.’ She smiled. ‘The life of a Greengrass.’

‘Is your sister the same?’

‘Oh, mostly. She’s put herself in the hospital wing to escape them. She’s safe for the moment, but we need to get out soon. No doubt our parents know about my...indiscretion by now. They’ll be coming to pull us out of school any day.’

‘We’ve tried to get out every way we can - they’ve blocked off every secret passage.’

‘Can’t this room just make one? It seems to be able to make everything else.’

That was when Ariana Dumbledore’s portrait swung open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pome 'Goblin Market' is by Christina Rossetti and can be found here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44996/goblin-market


	19. Nineteen

Daphne’s heart near enough leapt out of her chest as she glimpsed Harry through the crowd. He stumbled a little as he stepped down from the portrait. He looked  _ thin _ and tired. He had blood on his cheek and even his riotous hair lacked its usual spring. She climbed onto the edge of her bed in an attempt to see him over the crowd, but they surged forward, applauding and crying as if he were the second coming of Christ. Daphne jumped down, determined to push her way through. To hell with what the onlookers thought.

‘Guys, we don’t have time!’

Harry’s voice held an absolute authority she had never heard before. The room fell quiet. She strained on the tips of her toes to see him, and could just glimpse the edge of his face over Longbottom’s shoulder. He announced their need to find an object relating to Ravenclaw. It was Luna who suggested the diadem. Daphne turned her mind over but could not come up with any other suggestions.

Harry determined they would split up to search for it, with a casual mention that Voldemort was on his way over to Hogwarts to kill him. Amongst the bustling bodies - those preparing to fight, those preparing to search and those preparing to flee - Daphne struggled to make her way to him.

‘Harry!’ She hissed it in Parseltongue, begging he would hear her.

But he slipped out of the room as quickly as he had slipped in. Daphne felt like her heart was going to burst. 

‘Go on then, Greengrass,’ Weasley said as she brushed by, ‘now’s your chance to escape.’

Daphne wanted to curse her, but she was right. Astoria and escape - those had been her priorities all year. Harry would want her to stick to that. She strengthened her resolve and ducked out the Room of Requirement.

-

Daphne had read about guerilla warfare in passing - this was almost exactly how she had imagined it, replacing guns with wands. She swallowed a shriek and ducked behind a statue, narrowly avoiding a bright purple spell she could not identify. She waited for the offending wizard to dart past - one of the lesser death eaters who guarded the castle. After a few deep breaths she forced herself to move.  _ Don’t think _ , she chanted,  _ just do. _

She skidded to a halt outside the infirmary doors. Of course they were closed tightly. She cast a  _ bombarda _ with little effect. Desperate, she hammered on the door.

‘Astoria! It’s Daphne, open the door!  _ Astoria! _ ’

Daphne stumbled backwards when the door was pulled open and a wand stuck between her eyes. It was Madame Pomfrey, her face hard. She struggled not to burst into relieved tears.

‘My sister! Is she still here?’

Pomfrey hesitated for a moment before dropping her wand and pulling her in. The door slammed shut behind her. Daphne scanned the room and quickly located Astoria sitting in one of the beds. Her usually perfect blonde hair was a mess, and she was pale as death. It seemed the kidney root had done a number on her. Daphne dashed to her side.

‘Tori, are you okay?’ she asked, putting her hand on her sister’s cold face. 

‘What’s going on?’ Astoria asked in a panicked tone.

‘He’s here,’ Daphne said, unsure of who she referred to herself - Voldemort or Harry. ‘We have to go.’

‘We can’t get out, the castle’s surrounded!’

‘I know a way. Come on, quickly, let’s go!’

‘Miss Greengrass is going nowhere,’ Pomfrey snapped. ‘She is still recovering and to move her now would risk agitating her current state.’

Daphne wheeled around to glare at the healer. ‘And to leave her here is to risk her death! Which would you rather?’

Daphne transfigured the bedsheet into a large jumper and shoved it over Astoria’s head. The pillows she changed into a pair of thick leggings. Astoria was still a little shaky, but managed to dress herself with some semblance of speed. They fled the infirmary and Daphne dragged her sister back towards the room of requirement. They could escape through the portrait tunnel to Hogsmeade and then apparate home. It seemed a simple plan.

What should have been a ten minute journey took over an hour. They had to hide around every corner, dodging teachers and other students alike. When the wards surrounding Hogwarts were shattered they were knocked to the ground and Astoria could barely get back up. Daphne cast a featherlight charm on her sister and carried her the rest of the way. She sprinted up the last of the stairs, heart bursting, and stopped dead in her tracks.

‘What is it?’ Astoria wheezed in her ear.

Daphne choked back a sob - if she started crying now she would never stop. 

‘We’re fucked,’ she whispered instead.

The room of requirement was engulfed in flames. No, not just flames, fiendfyre. They were trapped.

_ No. _

_ No surrender. Not to these bastards. _

‘Can you walk?’ Daphne asked.

‘I think so.’

‘Then let’s find another way out of here.’

But upon stumbling outside they found a ring of teachers blocking the only viable exit at the front of the school. They had blown up the bridge, a clever strategic move, but one which made escape near impossible. Daphne tried to push past McGonagall but was held back. Astoria gave a wail of panic and despair as they were forced to retreat.

There had been a pause in battle. They had all heard Voldemort’s call for ceasefire, and his call for Harry to sacrifice himself. Daphne clung to her last bit of hope that Harry had not complied. She would go to pieces the moment she considered the opposite. And she had to be strong for Astoria. Astoria who was now flagging, slumped sideways on the castle steps and struggling to keep her eyes open. Daphne summoned a blanket and tucked it around her.

‘You’re alright,’ she whispered. ‘Stay with me.’

‘I feel so terrible,’ Astoria mumbled. ‘This was an awful plan.’

‘It’s just a bit of kidney root poisoning, you’ll be fine. Have you eaten anything today?’

She went green at the mention of food and Daphne decided not to push her. She sat down and pulled Astoria’s swaddled body into her arms in an attempt to keep her warm. 

‘Where are mother and father?’ Astoria whimpered.

‘I don’t know. We don’t need them. Here.’ She cast a warming charm and Astoria’s shivering lessened. 

‘Of course we need them.’

‘No, we don’t. If we did we would be dead already. As it is, we are surviving quite well just the two of us.’

‘I’m scared, Daph.’

‘Well, you’d be stupid if you weren’t.’

They were not the only students out on the steps. Longbottom limped around, clutching an old hat. Weasley and Granger were all wrapped around each other. Even Malfoy was outside, staring into the distance with a hollow look on his face. Daphne beckoned him over. 

‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked bluntly.

Malfoy looked awful, as if he hadn’t slept in years. He ran a hand through his pale, dirty hair.

‘They’re in the forest, I think,’ he said. ‘They’ve got Potter.’

And it was like a blow to the head with a lead pipe. Daphne held on to the solid weight of her sister for fear she would slip off the surface of the earth. She couldn’t speak, barely breathe, barely see - she was blind. It was all she could do to bury her face in her sister’s hair to hide her ugly tears. She could hear her own choking sobs and was powerless to suppress them. 

‘Oh, Daph,’ Astoria whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s going to be okay, Greengrass,’ Malfoy chipped in, sounding unconvinced. 

‘Oh, fuck off, Malfoy!’ Daphne lifted her head and spat at his feet. ‘Crawl back to daddy, you inbred bottom feeder!’

His fear turned to anger in a moment. He sneered down at her. ‘I don’t know what my parents were thinking. I would never marry the likes of you, Greengrass! Your whole family is mad!’

‘Marry you?' She shrieked. ‘I don’t even want to breathe the same air as you, or your foul, cowardly family! And nothing on this Earth could ever convince me to stoop  _ so low _ as to bow to our parents’ wishes and put your haunted family ring on my finger!’

‘Then what are you fucking wailing about?!’

And Harry’s face swam before her vision again - his soft, wild hair, his proud nose, his glasses, his dark green eyes...She bent her head again and cried. It felt as though her heart was breaking over and over again, each time the pain fresher and newer and harsher. How many times she had read Wuthering Heights and thought she understood it - she had known nothing! The words slammed to the forefront of her mind, almost knocking her dead:

 

_ I know that ghosts  _ have _ wandered on earth. Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! Only  _ do _ not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I  _ cannot _ live without my life! I  _ cannot _ live without my soul! _

 

Daphne jolted as she felt a hand on her back. Pulling her head up, hand on her wand, she was surprised to discover Granger and Weasley standing over her. It was Granger’s hand that rubbed circles on her back, her face just as messy and broken as Daphne assumed her own was. Granger bent down on her knees next to her and pulled Daphne into a one armed hug.

‘Harry told us,’ she said quietly, ‘about you. He said we should be kind to you after he…’ Her breath hitched painfully. ‘After he-’ 

‘How could you let him go?’ Daphne implored, her voice cracking.

‘We had to,’ Ron Weasley answered in an empty voice. ‘It was the only way.’

‘You know Harry,’ Granger added, ‘you can’t stop him once he’s decided.’

Through her tears, Daphne stuttered out an hysterical ‘If he’s dead I’m going to kill him!’

The answer came with Professor Sprout’s anguished cry. They looked up, and approaching from the forest was a full procession of Death Eaters. At its helm was Hagrid, chained, crying, holding a limp body in his huge arms. 

Daphne felt the life drain out of her. She scanned the approaching crowd to see her parents on the outskirts. Her heart hardened in a second. Yes, she would mourn Harry, loudly and at length she had no doubt, but first she had to avenge him. 

She wiped away her tears roughly and sat Astoria up. Her sister seemed to have recovered somewhat and managed to keep from toppling over again. Daphne stood, wand at the ready, slightly in front of Astoria. Her eyes narrowed at her parents’ approaching figures.

‘You’re going to fight?’ Granger asked, a surprised note in her voice.

They too drew their wands and planted their feet. Daphne’s heart hammered in her chest.

‘ _ May God have mercy upon my enemies _ ,’ she quoted through her teeth, ‘ _ because I won't. _ ’

Voldemort prowled around, declaring his victory, beckoning the gathered crowd of Hogwarts to join him. The Malfoys stretched out their hands, waving Draco across the no man’s land between them. Draco, the coward, went and endured an awkward embrace from Voldemort himself. Then it was the Greengrass’s turn.

‘Darlings,’ her mother called pleadingly, ‘come here.’

Neither moved. After a moment, Astoria reached her hand up out of her swaddling and clutched Daphne’s free one. Daphne squeezed it tightly.

‘Daphne, Astoria,’ her father snapped. ‘Enough of this! Get over here!’

Daphne disentangled her fingers from her sister’s and began walking down the steps. Absolute silence reigned as she approached them. She struggled to stay focussed enough not to begin hurling curses from this distance. Patiently, she walked, and just a foot away, she struck. 

She lifted her wand arm and sliced it downwards sharply, opening a spurting wound across her mother’s forehead. Her mother cried out, wiping blood from her eyes. Her father reached out to restrain her, but she had another spell ready for him. He was bound in thick, crushing ropes in a second. He fell to the floor uselessly, his cries mingling with that of her mother’s. Daphne grabbed her mother by her hair and threw her to the hard, stone floor. As she raised her wand, unsure if she really was about to kill her mother or simply deliver another humiliating blow, a flash of light blinded her. The impact of what felt like a sledgehammer smacked against her temple and sent her flying. The last thing Daphne registered was a second blow to her head as she hit the Hogwarts steps.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won't.' is a quote by General George S. Patton Jr.


	20. Twenty

Daphne woke to the quiet darkness of the hospital wing. At least, it seemed to be the hospital wing at first. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light she saw it was actually the Great Hall filled to the brim with beds and curtains and healing potions. She had never seen so many injured in one place. Slowly, she sat up and could not decide if her head hurt worse than her heart. 

On the small table by her bed was a potion labelled 'DAPHNE GREENGRASS, MORNING PAIN RELIEF'. She swallowed it in one long gulp. The strong salty taste made her cringe. As she looked to her side for a pitcher of water she was pleased to find Astoria in the bed next to her. Her heart relaxed a little at that. She had lived after all.

Daphne felt like a ghost rising from her bed, fully expecting her corpse to stay behind. The world felt intangible, unreal, unattainably distant. 

 

_ If all else perished, and he remained, I should continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. _

 

A mighty stranger indeed.

Her feet took her of their own accord to the Chamber of Secrets. It has been her one refuge this last year - the place she felt closest to him. The crunch of bones beneath her feet used to warm her heart. Now she feared it would never be warm again. She stepped into the dark chamber and, bypassing the furniture, walked into the pool at its far end. The water moved around her noisily. In the shallows, she sat, quite unsure of what to do with herself now.

She tried to think practically. If she and Astoria had been put into hospital beds it meant they had somehow survived this war. Voldemort had obviously granted her some sort of pardon, probably due to her blood status, and left her to heal. Her parents had been nowhere in sight. Perhaps they had returned to the manor, or taken residence in another part of the castle. Either way, she knew, that if she had woken up she must be safe.

She’d be married probably right away to Malfoy to solidify the family ties. A baby would not be far behind. Astoria would be next. She knew their mother had that Yaxley cousin in mind for her. Daphne would move into the East wing of the house with her new husband, appear at her father’s political events, watch Shelley raise her child, throw garden parties for her and all the other miserable wives…

_ Or I could just go mad.  _

If she went mad she would be sequestered to the sunny grandparent apartment on the top floor of the estate - to wile away her days buried in books and not brushing her hair. She would not be married, not appear in society, not be required to be herself. The estate would be signed over to Astoria, and her family would visit infrequently. She would be left to rot in peace. It would be quite easy to go mad.

But it was not right, and Harry would not like her to do what was not right.

She drew in a stuttering breath and the tears began to flow. Daphne slumped sideways, water lapping up around her chin and filling her right ear. There she lay, sobbing into the darkness, as she knew she would forever. Of its own accord her head lifted and dropped onto the stone floor, knocking searing pain through her injury. Over and over she smacked it, watching the blood mix with the water. She wished she had died when Voldemort cursed her. She wished the second blow on the stone steps had broken her spine at the neck. She wished she had been born into some other life with some other set of rules. Mostly, she wished she could have spoken to Harry one last time. 

She must have fallen asleep at some point, or knocked herself out. Her next conscious moment was being pulled from the water across stone. Once released on the cold floor she screwed her eyes shut and rolled onto her side, curling in on herself.

‘Is she alright?’ a distant voice wondered.

‘I think she’s hit her head again. Let’s move her onto the couch,’ the second answered, ‘and get her dry.’

Daphne tugged herself away from the hands that tried to dig themselves beneath her.

‘No,’ she croaked, ‘leave me here. Just let me die.’

‘I think we have to take her back to the hospital wing,’ the first voice said. 

‘Come on, Daphne,’ the second pleaded. ‘You’re bleeding and you’re soaked to the bone. Let’s get out of here.’

The sobs returned. Daphne buried her face in her hands. 

‘For what?’ she begged of them. ‘Nothing good awaits us outside of here! I’ll have to marry  _ fucking Malfoy! _ And I’ll be banished to the East Wing to spend my days wandering the halls like a ghost wondering why I ever,  _ ever _ let Harry convince me he was not going to die!’

It sounded like another person shrieking and crying beside her, but it was her open mouth that tasted the dank and bitter air. A pair of hands settled on her shoulders.

‘Daphne, open your eyes and look at me,’ the second voice commanded.

She forced back her swollen eyelids and for a moment could not quite process the face staring back at her. She sat up, wide-eyed, and put her hands on the face to check it was real. Under her fingertips Granger’s hair was a lot softer than it looked.

‘How?’ she asked stupidly. She glanced over at Ron Weasley standing by the fire. ‘How are you alive?’

Hermione Granger smiled back at her. ‘We won,’ she said softly. ‘It’s over. Voldemort’s dead.’

It was easy, instinctual, to release Granger’s cheeks and pull this perfect stranger into a hug.

‘You cannot lie to me, Hermione Granger,’ Daphne implored. ‘Do not tease me now.’

Granger returned the hug after a moment. ‘I’m not lying. He’s gone. We destroyed all his horcruxes and Harry beat him once and for all. He’s dead.’

‘Where is Harry?’ she gasped out. ‘Where have they put him?’

She had assumed Voldemort had destroyed his body, it seemed his style. But now she  _ could _ say a final goodbye and perhaps his ghost would hear it.

‘Put him?’ Granger repeated. ‘They haven’t put him anywhere, he’s out helping to clean up the castle. We came down here for, um, a rest from the work and we found you. We thought you were in the hospital wing still.’

Daphne pulled back to stare into Granger’s brown eyes. ‘What do you mean he’s out cleaning up the castle? Are you winding me up? Don’t be cruel to me, not now.’

‘He’s alive, Greengrass,’ Weasley interrupted. ‘When we saw him on the steps he wasn’t dead, just pretending to be, the sod. He’s alright.’

All in a second Daphne’s heart raised itself from the shadows on the floor. She looked between Granger and Weasley and could see no lie in their faces. 

‘He lives?’ she asked, still quite unbelieving.

Weasley shrugged and grinned. ‘Can’t keep him down.’

The next tears to flow were of joy.

To their credit, neither said anything as Daphne wept away the conclusions she had drawn that night. He lived! Harry lived! Against all the odds he had survived to keep his promise. He had come back to her! Her whole body shook with relief as the world once again opened up to her. Gone was the East Wing and its long days of misery, gone were the dinner parties and political socials, gone was the arranged marriage with the dreadfully blonde children. In their place - Harry. Only Harry, forever and ever. 

It was her own personal miracle.

When her eyes finally dried, Granger and Weasley helped to bandage her forehead and dry her clothes. Her fingers shook too much to cast the simplest of spells. In some ways, the relief was stronger than the grief. Shakily, she stood and began to lead the way out of the Chamber. The knowledge of Harry's life drew her like a magnet to him. She had to hold him in her arms again immediately.

‘How did you get down here anyway?’ Weasley asked as they walked.

Daphne picked her way carefully through the tunnel. Her legs felt like ice cream in the sun. ‘I’m a Parselmouth. How did  _ you _ get down here?’

‘Harry talks in his sleep,’ he replied casually.

Daphne smiled to herself. ‘I know.’

‘How do you know that?’ Granger asked, surprised.

Daphne cast her a disappointed look - was she not meant to be smart? ‘What did you think we did down here? Play cards?’

‘Wait!’ Weasley ground to a halt. ‘I thought you and Harry were like...secret friends or something, or that you spied on Slytherins for him. He never said you were…’

Daphne gave him her best mischievous smile. ‘When Harry said he knew me, I do believe he meant in the biblical sense.’

Granger gawked at her.

Daphne could feel the light returning to her body with every step. Once out of the chamber she sped ahead of Granger and Weasley to where they said Harry had been, leaving them to their private, whispered counsel. She did not care to keep the secret anymore. She trotted down the front steps once again, sliding through the students and teachers who  _ reparoed _ the building back to its glory, and saw him.

He stood amongst a pile of rubble, levitating the large pieces aside to clear the walkways. She was struck once again by how thin he looked, how unshaven, dirty and bloody. Yet he had never looked more glorious. Gone was an invisible weight he had bore all these years- his shoulders danced as he cast magic now. Daphne stopped where she stood, struck through once more with how much she completely loved him.

A sudden anxiety arrested her heart. What if, given all the time between them, he no longer felt the same? What if he would turn and look at her and look away again? What if he had not told Granger and Weasley because he did not care to relive it? What if, _what if!_

‘Oi!’ Daphne started at Weasley’s bellow from behind her. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do!’ The shadow of his hand fell over Daphne.

Harry looked up at the noise: first at Weasley and then at her. She let go of all her breath as his eyes, so beautifully green, rolled over her. She pressed a hand to her diaphragm to squash the rising panic as he stared at her. She watched his lips soundlessly form her name.

The chunk of Hogwarts he levitated crashed to the ground. He flinched, glanced at it, then turned back to her. Her heart hammered too loudly in her chest. What few people stood between them parted as Harry ran towards the steps. Daphne let her heart hope once more as he grew closer to her. Finally, she burst apart as he collided with her, arms wrapping tightly around her waist and hoisting her from the ground. She wound her arms and legs around him, determined never, ever to let him go again.

He drew his face back, one arm holding her waist in a death grip and the other hand gentle on her jaw. For a moment they stared at each other in silence, hearts crashing against each other. Then he kissed her.

Seamus Finnegan's loud, ‘What the bloody hell is this?’ made them both laugh as they parted. His face buried into her hair. She smelled the dry salt of his sweat and the iron of his blood. He smelled alive.

‘I missed you so much,’ he murmured, ‘more than you know.’

‘Oh, I know, peach. I know.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'If all else perished, and he remained, I should continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.' is, of course, from Wuthering Heights


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